THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES        : 

GIFT  OF 
COMMODORE  BYRON  MCCANDLESS 


>-**^ 


HERE  AND  THERE 


OUR  OWN  COUNTRY, 


EMBRACING 

SKETCHES  OF  TRAVEL  AND   DESCRIPTIONS 
OF   PLACES,  ETC.,  ETC. 


By   POPULAR  WRITERS. 


"WITH.     127     ILLUSTRATIONS 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY. 


Copyright,  1885,  by  J.  B.  LiPPlNCOTT  COMPANY. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

ON  THE   FRENCH   BROAD.     EDMUND  KIRKE 5 

CATSKILL   AND   THE   CATSKILL   REGION 34 

EKONIAH  SCRUB :   AMONG  FLORIDA  LAKES.   LOUISE  SEYMOUR  HOUGHTON    65 

STRATFORD-ON-THE-SOUND -. 79 

CANOEING  ON  THE   HIGH   MISSISSIPPI.     A.  H.  SIEGFRIED 95 

A  CHAPTER  OF  AMERICAN  EXPLORATION.  WILLIAM  H.  RIDEING  .  .  .  116 
THE  RUINS  OF  THE  COLORADO  VALLEY.  ALFRED  TERRY  BACON  ...  134 
AN  HISTORICAL  ROCKY-MOUNTAIN  OUTPOST.  GEORGE  REX  BUCKMAN  .  145 

LEADVBLLE.    I.  BONNER 162 

HOUSEKEEPING  IN  TEXAS.     AMELIA  A.  BARR 174 

A   VISIT   TO   THE   SHRINES   OF   OLD    VIRGINIA.    DAVID  H.  STROTHER 

(Porte  Crayon) 189 

PARADISE  PLANTATION.    LOUISE  SEYMOUR  HOUGHTON 204 

3 


973787 


HERE  AND  THERE 


IN 


OUR    OWN    COUNTRY. 


ON    THE    FRENCH    BROAD. 


WAS  due  in 
Asheville,  North 
Carolina,  on  the 
first  day  of  January,  1882.  If  I  were 
not  there  by.  or  before  that  date,  import- 
ant interests  might  suffer :  therefore, 
taking  "time  by  the  forelock,"  I  set  out 
several  days  in  advance  of  the  appointed 
period.  I  had  only  a  hundred  and  forty 
miles  to  go,  but  I  was  somewhat  expe- 
rienced in  Southern  travel,  and  knew  it 
was  well  enough  to  allow  a  liberal  mar- 
gin of  time,  even  for  short  distances. 

"You  will  find  Jordan  a  hard  road  to 
travel,  sir,"  said  the  conductor  to  me,  as 


we  went  down  the  Buncombe  Railway 
from  Morristown,  Tennessee.  "The 
trestle  at  Deep  Water  is  swept  away, 
and  the  one  at  Ivy  is  hanging  by  only 
the  couplings ;  but  you'll  get  through 
somehow,  if  you're  one  of  the  '  saints' 
and  b'lieve  in  '  perseverance.'  " 

I  was  in  the  wake  of  a  severe  storm, 
which  I  knew  had  done  some  damage  to 
the.  roads,  but  I  was  not  aware  that*  it 
had  swept  away  bridges  and  raised  high 
havoc  generally.  However,  I  had  no 
alternative,  so  I  pushed  on,  trusting  to 
luck  and  "perseverance."  At  Wolf 
Creek  the  train  halted  in  a  driving  snow- 

5 


ON    THE  FRENCH  BROAD. 


storm.  The  stage-driver  was  on  the 
platform,  waiting  for  the  mail-bag,  and  I 
asked  if  he  had  a  spare  seat. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  answered,  "one, — on 
my  nigh  mare.  But  I  karn't  take  you 
no  furder  nor  Ottinger's ;  beyant  thai 
you'll  have  to  take  to  Shank's  mares ; 
but  'tain't  only  two  miles  to  the  Spring 
House." 

"Shank's  mares?"  I  asked.  "What 
sort  of  mares  are  they  ?" 

"  Why,  yer  legs,  stranger  ;  and  you'll 
be  lucky  if  you  get  through  on  them,  for 
thar  hain't  no  road  ;  it's  all  torned  up  by 
the  cussed  railroad.  It's  a  reg'lar  dog 
in  the  manger :  it  don't  travil  itself  nor 
let  no  one  else  travil." 

Calling  to  mind  what  the  train-con- 
ductor had  said  about  the  "  perseverance 
of  the  saints,"  1  decided  to  accept  the 
vacant  seat  on  the  "nigh  mare,"  and 
then  hurried  to  the  public  house  to  break 
a  long  fast  and  deposit  my  luggage, 
which  Shank's  mares  might  find  incon- 
veniently heavy  to  carry. 

Every  traveller  in  this  part  of  the 
world  knows  this  quaint,  old-fashioned 
inn,  nestling  among  the  hills,  its  low 
roof  and  wide  veranda  overhung  with 
broad-branching  trees,  which  yield  a 
grateful  shelter  from  the  torrid  heat  of 
midsummer.  Very  pleasant  is  it  to  come 
upon  it  when  the  outer  world  is  swelter- 
ing in  the  heated  air,  and  to  have  the 
breeze  which  comes  down  the  mountain- 
gorge  fan  your  cheek  with  the  cool 
breath  of  October.  But  quite  as  pleas- 
ant is  the  old  inn  in  the  depth  of  winter, 
though  its  attractions  are  then  all  in- 
doors,— in  a  warm  fire,  a  warm  welcome, 
and  a  bounteous  repast,  which  the  kindly 
landlady  sets  before  you  in  the  low-ceil- 
inged  dining-room.  I  was  in  the  midst 
of  such  a  repast,  when  the  Jehu  thrust 
his  head  in  at  the  door-way  with  "  Hurry 
up,  hurry  up,  sir.  The  mail  can't  wait. 
We  shan't  git  thar  before  midnight." 

It  was  an  hour  before  nightfall  when 
we  mounted  to  the  "top  of  the  stage" 
and  rode  off  into  the  snow-storm.  The 
flakes  were  falling  fast,  and  the  cold 
wind  from  the  near  mountains  drove 
them  in  blinding  gusts  into  our  faces, 
frosting  our  hair  till  our  locks  were  as 


venerably  white  as  those  of  Old  Time  in 
the  primer.  The  "nigh  mare"  was  not 
the  horse  which  won  the  last  race  at 
Nashville,  but  a  slower  animal ;  and  she 
stumbled  along  over  the  frozen  road  with 
a  persistent  disregard  of  a  direct  course 
and  a  steadfast  footing.  It  required 
about  all  my  attention  to  watch  her  un- 
steady gyrations ;  but  I  did  now  and 
then  give  a  glance  at  the  country  through 
which  we  were  passing. 

Most  of  it  was  covered  with  magnifi- 
cent timber, — oak,  pine,  and  poplar, — 
straight  as  the  mast  of  a  ship,  and  tower- 
ing a  hundred  feet  into  the  air.  The 
land,  I  was  told,  could  be  bought  for  a 
dollar  an  acre,  and  there  were  evidently 
ten  of  such  trees  upon  every  acre :  so  it 
seemed  only  necessary  to  put  an  axe 
into  that  timber  to  realize  a  fortune. 
This  was  my  first  opinion ;  but  as  I  rode 
on  in  the  dim  light  of  the  half-blinding 
storm  I  soon  came  to  a  different  conclu- 
sion. I  discovered  that  the  larger  por- 
tion of  the  land  was  set  up  edgewise, 
and  too  near  the  perpendicular  to  be 
trodden  by  the  foot  of  man  until  he  has 
invented  some  new  mode  of  locomotion. 

It  soon  became  dark,  and  the  storm 
increased  with  the  night ;  but  we  rode 
on,  now  wading  some  stream  breast- 
high  to  the  horses,  and  then  again 
floundering  over  the  icy  ground,  my 
only  guide  the  steady  tattoo  beat  by  the 
heels  of  the  "off  horse,"  as  he  kept  just 
one  length  ahead  of  me  on  the  frozen 
road. 

"  I  say,  stranger,"  shouted  the  Jehu 
out  of  the  darkness,  "a  man  is  a  gol- 
darned  fool  as  drives  stage  in  this 
weather." 

"And  what  is  the  man  who  doesn't 
drive  a  stage?" 

"  He's  a  gol-doner  ;  and  jjiat's  what  I 
think  of  you,  sir." 

I  was  conscious  of  meriting  this  en- 
comium, but  I  answered  nothing,  and, 
cold,  benumbed,  and  half  frozen  in 
hands  and  feet,  I  pulled  my  hat  down 
over  my  eyes  to  keep  out  the  thick-fall- 
ing snow,  and  pushed  on  into  the  dark- 
ness. We  had  ridden  on  in  silence  for 
another  hour,  when  the  driver  turned 
suddenly  to  me  again,  this  time  shouting, 


ON   THE   FRENCH  BROAD. 


"Glory  hallelujah!  Thar  it  are — the 
light — off  yonder." 

It  was  Ottinger's,  and  in  another  five 
minutes  I  had  alighted  from  the  "top  of 
the  stage"  and  staggered — for  I  was  too 
cold  and  stiff  to  walk — into  the  sitting- 
room.  A  bright  wood  fire  was  blazing 
on  the  hearth,  shedding  a  cheerful  glow 
around  the  cosey  but  spacious  apartment. 
In  one  of  the  chimney-corners  sat  two 
men,  evidently  travellers  ;  in  the  other, 
a  cheery,  pleasant-faced  woman,  a  little 
past  middle  age,  who,  looking  up  with  a 
cheerful  smile,  accosted  me  as  follows : 
"  I  knowed  you'd  come.  I've  been  look- 
ing for  you." 

"Indeed!     Looking  for  me  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  for  I  knowed  that  an  old  fool 
like  you  would  be  sure  to  come  out  on  a 
night  like  this." 

"Old,  madam?  You  call  me  old? 
Wait  till  I  take  off  my  hat  and  get  the 
snow  out  of  my  hair  and  beard." 

I  suited  the  action  to  the  word,  and 
then  she  said,  with  another  cheery  laugh, 
"Well,  you're  not  so  very  old,  but  you're 
a  fool  all  the  same, — any  one  is  to  travil 
seen  a  night  as  this  on  the  back  of  a 
broken-down  stage-horse.  But  never 
mind ;  here,  take  my  seat — you  must  be 
cold :  you  need  something  hot :  what 
shall  it  be  ?  hot  coffee  or  hot  toddy  ?" 

"Coffee,  if  you  please,  madam.  I'm 
a  temperance  man." 

"  Well,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  was," 
scanning  me  closely  ;  "per'aps  a  Methi- 
dist  parson ;  and  you  did  look  like  a 
saint  when  you  come  in, — like  one  of 
'em  in  white  robes,  just  ready  to  go  up 
to  glory.  But,  saint  or  sinner,  you  shan't 
freeze  to  death  here,  not  so  long  as  I  kin 
make  the  kettle  boil."  And  with  another 
cheery  laugh  she  bustled  out  of  the  apart- 
ment. 

When  I  had  begun  to  thaw  out,  I 
made  acquaintance  with  my  fellow- 
guests  at  this  comfortable  hostelry.  One 
was  a  commercial  traveller  on  his  way 
to  Asheville  with  about  a  thousand 
pounds  of  luggage.  He  was  waiting, 
like  the  man  in  the  fable,  for  the  river  to 
run  dry  ;  and  if  he  kept  to  his  intention 
he  is  waiting  yet.  The  other  guest  was 
a  country  shoemaker,  who  had  just  come 


afoot  over  the  route  I  should  be  obliged 
to  travel.  His  report  was  much  like  that 
of  the  spies  to  Joshua.  The  land  was 
one  flowing  with  milk  and  sorghum  mo- 
lasses, but  to  reach  it  one  must  cross  the 
French  Broad  River,  and  the  bridges 
were  down,  the  river  was  up,  and  abreast 
of  Lovers'  Leap  the  water  stood  six  feet 
deep  in  the  high-road.  At  other  points 
it  was  nearly  as  deep,  and  farther  on 
estray  logs  and  uprooted  trees  had  drifted 
in  from  the  stream  and  so  obstructed  the 
road  that  it  was  absolutely  impassable 
for  any  living  "critter"  except  a  Bun- 
combe County  pony,  and  one  of  them 
could  walk  a  creek,  climb  a  rail  fence,  or 
dance  a  hornpipe  on  a  tight-rope.  The 
only  course  for  a  man  to  get  round  the 
obstructed  points  was  to  scale  the  almost 
inaccessible  cliffs  which  rose  on  the  left 
of  the  road  a  hundred  feet  and  more  al- 
most perpendicularly.  This  the  shoe- 
maker had  done,  but  he  was  sure  of  foot 
and  steady  of  nerve ;  and  if  a  man 
wasn't  all  this  he  would  advise  him  not 
to  attempt  the  hazardous  exploit.  How- 
ever, these  mountain-streams  went  down 
about  as  fast  as  they  went  up,  and  the 
river  might  be  low  enough  by  the  morn- 
ing to  allow  of  my  passing  Lovers'  Leap 
with  dry  feet,  if  my  boots  were  well 
coated  with  a  solution  of  beeswax  and 
tallow.  This  was  on  the  supposition  that 
I  travelled  afoot,  which  I  did  not  intend 
to  do  if  a  saddle-horse  could  be  anywhere 
obtained  for  the  moderate  amount  of  legal 
currency  I  had  about  me. 

Soon  the  landlady  appeared  at  the 
door,  saying,  "  Now,  you  temperance 
gentleman,  come  this  way,  and  I'll  give 
you  something  to  warm  your  innards." 

I  followed  her  into  the  dining-room 
and  sat  down  to  a  repast  fit  to  "set  be- 
fore a  king,"  and  which  any  king  would 
have  enjoyed  if  blessed  with  a  reason- 
ably good  appetite  :  hot  rolls,  hot  coffee, 
hot  waffles,  hot  corn-pone,  and  hot  ham 
and  eggs, — everything  hot,  and  all  pre- 
pared by  the  chubby  hands  of  my  warm- 
hearted hostess.  While  pouring  out  the 
coffee,  she  opened  a  conversation,  and  it 
was  not  long  before  I  had  her  complete 
autobiography.  It  was  barren  of  inci- 
i  dent ;  but,  as  it  illustrates  the  life  of  a 


8 


ON   THE  FRENCH  BROAD. 


class  not  generally  supposed  to  exist  at 
the  South,  I  may  as  well  give  it  here  in 
brief  epitome. 

"You  see,"  she  said,  "me  and  my  old 
man  was  born  and  broughten  up  in  Ten- 
nessee,— East  Tennessee, — where  they 
raise  such  heaps  of  live-stock — hosses 
and  mules  and  pigs  and  horned  critters 
— for  the  Car'lina  markets.  We  was 
poor;  but  we  married  young,  for  neither 
of  us  believed  in  waitin'  till  we  had 
enough  to  rear  a  fambly.  He  was  sober 
and  'dustrious,  and  so  was  I ;  and  we 
got  along  right  smart,  bought  a  nice 
little  farm  and  paid  for  it,  and  when  the 
children  come  along — as  was  nat'ral  they 
should — we  had  enough  to  feed  and 
clothe  'em  and  give  'em  a  sight  better 
edication  than  we  had  ourselves.  This 
was  doin'  right  well ;  but  you  never 
knowed  ary  one  of  the  right  sperrit  as 
thought  they  was  doin'  well  enough  when 
they  could  do  any  better.  We  could  give 
our  children  good  edications,  but  we 
wanted  to  set  'em  up  in  life,  fur  no  one 
kin  live  upon  larnin'  'cept  boys,  and  all 
our  boys  was  girls, — all  but  one,  and  he 
had  no  more  mind  for  books  nor  I  have 
for  the  finer)'  those  silly  women  as  come 
to  the  Springs  go  crazy  over." 

"  You  mistake,  madam.  I  know  a 
good  many  young  women  at  the  North 
who  live  upon  their  learning, — make  lots 
of  money  by  teaching." 

"Teachin1?"  she  exclaimed.  "Do 
you  s'pose  I'd  let  one  o'  my  girls  be  a 
schule-marm, — a  dried-up  copy  of  the 
multiplication-table  ?  No,  sir !  I'd 
rather  every  one  of  'em  was  poor  and 
the  mother  of  sixteen  small  children.  I 
tell  you,  sir,  the  young  woman  as  has  a 
likely  boy  or  girl  and  brings  it  up  to  be  a 
decent  man  or  woman  does  more  for  the 
kentry  and  the  world  than  all  the  schule- 
marms  in  creation.  But,  as  I  was  sayin', 
we  had  four  children, — three  girls  and  a 
boy,  the  youngest  girl  you'll  see  here, — 
and  we  wanted  to  look  out  for  settin'  on 
'em  up  in  life.  We  put  our  heads  to- 
gether, my  old  man  and  me,  but  we 
couldn't  see  no  way  to  do  it  till  one  time 
when  he  come  out  here  and  seed  this 
farm,  which  we  could  buy  reasonable. 
You  see,  this  road  by  Wolf  Creek,  and 


all  along  up  French  Broad  to  Asheville, 
was  the  only  road  from  East  Tennessee 
to  Charlotte  and  Augusta,  and  all  the 
stock  had  to  be  driv'  this  way  for  the- 
Car'lina  markets.  It  had  been  the  old 
Indian  trail,  and  they  had  followed  it  for 
years, — long  afore  the  kentry  ever  see  a 
white  man.  And  now  it  is  taken  by  the 
railroad  which  they  say  is  a-goin'  to  bring 
us  right  into  the  centre  of  civilization. 
Strange,  sir,  hain't  it,  that  the  railroad 
engineers,  with  all  thar  book-larnin', 
don't  know  no  more  'bout  layin'  out  a 
road  nor  the  wild  Indians. 

"Well,"  she  continued,  "as  I  was 
sayin',  my  husband  come  down  here 
with  a  drove  of  cattle,  and  he  had  to 
bring  his  fodder  along  with  him,  for 
there  wasn't  a  blessed  thing  growin'  for 
'em  to  eat  from  the  time  they  struck  the 
French  Broad,  nigh  to  Newport,  till  they 
got  'bout  on  to  Asheville.  The  whole 
kentry  was  steep  hill-sides  and  mountain- 
tops,  as  grow'd  nothin'  but  rocks,  except 
a  narrow  stage-road  along  the  river,  the 
openin'  whar  the  Springs  is,  and  this 
farm  of  'bout  seventeen  hundred  acres. 
The  Springs  was  already  taken  up.  and 
had  been  for  a  hundred  years,  and  fool- 
ish women  come  thar  then,  just  as  they 
do  now,  a-huntin'  for  husbands.  15ut 
this  place  had  nothin'  on  it  'cept  the 
nat'ral  grass,  and  the  moment  my  hus- 
band sot  eyes  on  it  he  seed  what  could 
be  done  with  it.  He  could  lay  it  down 
in  grass  and  corn  and  oats,  and  sell  'em 
to  the  drovers  as  come  by,  and  make  his 
fortune.  And,  to  cut  a  long  story  short, 
he  done  it.  At  first  we  put  up  a  log 
house,  but  now,  you  see,  we've  got  a 
brick  one, — two  stories  and  attic,  and 
fifty  feet  square, — and,  if  I  say  it,  as 
good  a  farm  as  can  be  found  in  the  State 
of  North  Car'lina." 

"  I  can  readily  believe  it,  madam : 
seventeen  hundred  acres  of  such  bottom- 
land is  a  farm  that  would  be  hard  to  beat 
anywhere." 

"Well,  we  hain't  seventeen  hundred 
acres  now.  When  our  boy  come  of  age, 
you  see,  we  built  him  a  house  and  give 
him  three  hundred  acres.  And  we  done 
the  same  by  our  two  older  girls  when 
they  was  married ;  and — I  don't  mind 


ON   THE   FRENCH  BROAD. 


tellin'  you,  for  you  don't  look  as  if  you 
was  huntin'  a  wife,  and,  if  you  was, 
you're  a  temperance  man,  and  sech 
gen'rally  makes  good  husbands — we 
mean  to  do  jest  the  same  by  our  young- 
est girl ;  she's  jest  turned  of  seventeen: 
you'll  see  her  when  you  git  back  to  the 
sittin'-room.  So  we'll  hev  only  'bout 
five  hundred  acres  ;  but  I  reckon  that 
and  a  good  warm  house  is  'bout  enough 
for  my  old  man  and  me  for  the  rest  of 
our  days." 

At  this  point  in  the  monologue,  a  tall 
man  of  about  sixty,  very  erect,  and  with 
a  fine  face  and  forehead,  opened  the 
door  and  said  to  the  lady,  "  Wife,  thar's 
another  stranger  come  in,  who  has 
walked  all  the  way  from  Stockhouse's. 
Can't  you  give  him  some  hot  coffee  ? 
He's  very  cold,  and  I  thought  you'd  like 
to  do  it." 

"Of  course  I  would,"  said  the  good 
woman,  rising  hastily,  "but  he'll  have 
to  wait  a  little.  You  see,  this  gentleman 
has  been  so  very  entertainin' — kept  me 
so  busy  a-listenin'  to  his  pleasant  talk — 
I've  forgot  to  keep  the  coffee  and  the 
other  things  on  the  stove.  Ask  him  to 
wait  a  little,  and  I'll  have  'em  ho(t  ag'in." 

I  went  into  the  sitting-room  and  asked 
the  new-comer  how  he  had  come  from 
Stockhouse's.  "On  foot,  sir,"  was  his 
reply,  "  and  I  climbed  the  cliff  at  Lovers' 
Leap  and  at  two  places  beyond ;  but  if 
you  are  going  on  I  would  advise  you  not 
to  hazard  the  experiment.  The  snow 
which  has  melted  to-day  will  freeze  to- 
night and  be  ice  by  to-morrow,  and  af- 
ford you  a  very  dangerous  footing." 

When  the  landlady  returned  from  the 
dining-room,  and  took  her  accustomed 
seat  in  the  chimney-corner,  she  said  to 
me,  "  I  know  what  you're  hankerin' 
after ;  you  don't  drink,  but  you  do  smoke, 
and  you  want  one  now,  and  think  it  won't 
suit  us  women." 

"Madam,  you  have  read  me  like  a 
book :  if  you  had  lived  two  hundred 
years  ago  you  might  have  been  hanged 
for  a  witch." 

"Well,  don't  you  mind  us,  for,  if  you 
won't  mention  it,  I'll  tell  you  I  don't 
mind  a  quiet  whiff  now  and  then  my- 
self." 


All  now  produced  their  cigars,  except 
the  landlady.  She  drew  from  the  pocket 
of  her  dress  a  small  yellow  bag  and  a 
colored  clay  pipe,  called  the  Powhatan 
because  it  is  supposed  to  be  the  identi- 
cal utensil  which  the  renowned  John 
Smith,  first  of  that  name,  found  in  use 
among  the  Indians  when  he  first  set  foot 


TRAVELLING  ALONG  THE  FRENCH  BROAD. 

in  Virginia.  Holding  out  the  bag  to  me, 
she  said,  "You  had  better  try  some  of 
my  tobacco,  sir.  It  is  better  nor  your 
cigar ;  it  are  the  genuine  '  bright  yellow,' 
the  pure  '  golden-leaf,'  and  it  don't  grow 
nowhere  like  it  do  here  in  Madison 
County." 

I  filled  a  pipe  with  the  fragrant  leaves, 
and  when  I  had  imbibed  a  few  whiffs  I 
remarked,  "  It  is  excellent,  madam :  you 
are  a  judge  of  the  weed." 

"I  orter  be,"  she  answered.  "I've 
smoked  it  ever  since  I  was  born  ;  and  all 
my  gals  smoke  too,  but  they  do  it  behind 
the  door,  whar  folks  won't  see  'em.  But 


10 


ON   THE  FRENCH  BROAD. 


I  tell  you,  sir,  it's  nothin'  to\>e  ashamed 
of,  for  tobacco  is  a-goin'  to  be  the  makin' 
of  this  kentry." 

"  How  is  that,  madam  ?" 

"Why,  ever  since  it  was  found  out, 
'bout  ten  year  ago,  that  this  sile  was  the 
best  in  the  world  for  it,  every  little  farmer 
in  Madison  and  Buncombe  has  gone  to 
growin'  it.  'Fore  they  done  that  they 
didn't  get  more'n  enough  to  jest  keep 
soul  and  body  together,  but  now  they 
clear  fifty  and  a  hundred  dollars  a  year 
from  every  acre.  It  brings  'em  in  money, 
so  they  kin  send  their  children  to  school, 
wear  better  clothes,  and  hev  somethin' 
to  eat  'sides  bacon  and  corn-pone.  It's 
the  poor  fare  they  has  lived  on  that  has 
made  the  back-kentry  people  down  yere 
sech  a  mis'rable,  no-account  set  of  crit- 
ters." 

"  It  was  parched  corn  that  settled  this 
country,  and  you  think  tobacco  will  civil- 
ize it?" 

"Yes,  sir.  But  how  did  parched  corn 
settle  it?" 

"  It  was  all  that  John  Sevier  had  in  his 
knapsack  when  he  beat  the  British  at 
King's  Mountain  and  flogged  the  Chero- 
kees  in  thirty-five  battles." 

But  the  delicious  "golden-leaf"  in  my 
pipe  was  soon  exhausted,  and.  knocking 
the  ashes  from  the  bowl,  I  rose,  and, 
bidding  my  kindly  entertainers  "good- 
night," I  went  to  the  quiet  slumbers  that 
are  apt  to  follow  a  long  ride  on  the  back 
of  a  broken-down  stage-horse. 

In  the  morning  I  found  the  storm  had 
cleared  away,  and  the  day  opened  cold 
but  clear  and  sunshiny.  I  was  assured 
that  I  could  secure  a  saddle-horse  at 
Warm  Springs  ;  and  that  assurance  and 
the  beautiful  morning  led  me  to  set  out 
early  on  my  journey.  My  genial  hostess 
saw  me  to  the  door-way,  and,  as  she 
held  my  hand  in  a  kindly  "good-by," 
said,  "Ye'd  better  take  stret  up  the  corn- 
field. The  railroad  has  gobbled  up  the 
stage-road,  and  ye'll  find  it  powerful 
hard  walkin'  on  the  track." 

I  took  "stret  up  the  cornfield."  The 
earth  was  still  covered  with  the  lately- 
fallen  snow,  but  the  ground  was  yielding 
to  the  foot,  for  I  was  on  bottom-land, 
which  at  longer  or  shorter  intervals  had 


been  submerged  by  the  river  freshets. 
The  cold  air  contained  just  enough  elec- 
tricity to  send  the  blood  tingling  through 
the  veins  and  render  the  simple  act  of 
walking  a  most  exhilarating  exercise. 
Soon  I  struck  a  piece  of  marshy  ground, 
and  was  forced  to  take  to  the  track,  which 
there  ran  along  an  enbankment  with  not 
width  enough  at  the  side  of  the  rails  to 
admit  of  the  passage  of  the  "  living  skele- 
ton," so  I  was  obliged  to  keep  in  the 
middle  of  the  track  ;  and  I  soon  learned 
that  "Jordan  is  a  hard  road  to  travel." 
To  keep  their  contract  with  the  State,  the 
railroad-managers  were  obliged  to  finish 
their  work  by  the  1st  of  February,  and, 
in  the  haste  of  laying  the  track,  one 
cross-tie  had  been  made  to  do  duty  for 
two,  and,  the  ties  being  fully  four  feet 
apart,  it  was  somewhat  beyond  the  stretch 
of  an  ordinary  man's  legs  to  straddle 
from  one  tie  to  another.  The  only  course 
was  to  take  one  step  upon  a  tie  and  the 
next  into  the  interval  between,  which  was 
filled  with  a  snowy  slush,  and  the  conse- 
quence was  that  my  boots  were  very  soon 
in  a  most  unpleasant  condition. 

When  I  had  gone  on  in  this  manner 
for  a  mile  or  more,  I  came  upon  a  "sec- 
tion-boss" overseeing  a  gang  of  laborers. 
They  were  mostly  negroes,  and  all  were 
clad  in  the  variegated  garb  of  the  State 
convict.  Only  one  was  a  white  man, 
and  he  had  intelligent  features  ;  the  rest 
were  black,  and  of  the  very  lowest  type 
of  humanity,  —  coarse,  brutal-looking 
fellows,  whom  one  would  not  care  to 
meet  alone  on  an  unfrequented  highway. 
Near  by,  leaning  upon  his  musket, — 
which  I  noticed  was  at  the  half-trigger, — 
was  the  guard,  a  pleasant- faced  young 
man,  scarcely  more  than  a  stripling. 
He  stood  at  his  ease,  giving  little  appa- 
rent heed  to  his  prisoners ;  and  I  could 
but  think  how  easy  it  would  be  for  any 
one  of  those  stalwart  fellows  to  spring 
upon  him  unawares,  disarm  him,  and 
then  escape  with  the  rest  of  the  gang  to 
the  neighboring  forest.  This  would  be 
very  sure  to  happen  if  the  convicts  were 
white  men  ;  but  they  are  nearly  all  black, 
and  of  a  more  docile  character.  Why 
so  large  a  proportion  of  them  are  colored 
I  did  not  learn  till  afterward. 


ON   THE   FRENCH  BROAD. 


I  I 


Exchanging  a  few  words  of  salutation 
with  the  "boss  "  and  the  guard,  I  trudged 
on  again  over  the  miry  track,  and  was 
soon  warming  my  chilled  limbs  before  a 
rousing  wood  fire  in  the  spacious  hotel 
at  Warm  Springs.  This  is  a  favorite 
summer  resort,  and  every  season  it  is 
crowded  with  guests  fleeing  from  the 
sultry  atmosphere  of  the  Southern  sea- 
board. It  derives  its  name  from  a  re- 
markable spring,  which  rises  at  the  very 
brink  of  the  river  and  maintains  at  all 
seasons  a  temperature  of  102°  to  104° 
Fahrenheit.  Though  highly  charged 
with  minerals,  the  water  is  tasteless,  and 
it  is  so  very  buoyant  that  it  will  sustain 
the  human  body.  The  hotel  was  now 
bare  of  guests,  for  the  birds  of  fashion 
had  flown  southward  with  the  first  ap- 
proach of  cold  weather. 

My  first  inquiry  was  about  the  condi- 
tion of  the  road  farther  on  to  the  east- 
ward ;  but  I  could  get  no  information 
beyond  what  I  had  learned  from  the  man 
who  had  scaled  Lovers'  Leap  the  day 
previous.  It  is  astonishing  how  little 
people  seem  to  know  in  this  section : 
nobody  appears  to  understand  even  his 
own  business,  or  to  be  in  any  hurry  to 
attend  to  it.  From  this  last  remark, 
however,  must  be  excepted  the  French 
Broad  River,  which  rushes  on  as  if  racing 
against  time  and  intent  upon  getting 
somewhere  in  the  shortest  period  pos- 
sible. It  has  decidedly  a  purpose  and 
a  will  of  its  own,  and  withal  an  eye  for 
the  picturesque.  This  last  trait  is  but 
natural,  seeing  it  was  born  amid  some 
of  the  wildest  scenery  on  this  continent. 
Its  waywardness  had  just  been  strikingly 
shown  in  the  remorseless  fury  with  which 
it  had  a  dozen  times  swept  away  the  un- 
sightly wooden  structures  which  the  rail- 
way-engineers had  time  and  again  tried 
to  throw  across  its  current.  Iron  bridges, 
high  above  its  reach,  and  with  a  span 
from  shore  to  shore,  are  the  only  things 
that  will  ever  withstand  its  resistless 
energies. 

The  agent  of  the  stage-line  kept  the 
only  livery-horses  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  in  search  of  him  I  went  as  soon  as  I 
had  thawed  my  chilled  limbs  at  the  hotel 
fire.  I  was  a  long  time  in  finding  him, 


and  a  still  longer  time  in  extracting  from 
him  the  unpleasant  fact  that  he  would  let 
neither  horse  nor  mule  go  on  to  Marshall 
for  "no  consideration  whatsomever." 
He  "toted"  the  mail,  but  only  two  days 
back  his  mule  and  darky  "come  nigh 
onter  drownin'  a-swimmin'  the  Big  Lau- 
rel," and  he  wasn't  "a-gwine"  to  risk 
that  "wuth  of  hoss-flesh  ag'in  for  nary 
gov'ment  on  earth,"  unless  it  paid  mor'n 
three  hundred  dollars  a  year ;  and  ef  he 
wouldn't  do  it  fur  gov'ment,  to  keep  the 
wheels  of  society  in  motion,  he  reckoned 
he  wouldn't  do  it  fur  no  "private  indi- 
vidooal." 

"Then  I  must  take  again  to  Shank's 
mares.  Can  you  tell  me  if  there's  much 
water  in  the  road?" 

"There  was  a  right  smart  chance  yes- 
terday. How  it  are  to-day  I  hain't 
yered." 

"  How  much  is  a  right  smart  chance  ?" 

"A  powerful  sight.  It  mought  be  five 
foot,  it  mought  be  six,  but  it's  too  deep  to 
git  over  unless  ye  climb  Lovers'  Leap. 
Howsomever,  if  ye  kin  git  round  that  and 
over  the  Laurel,  ye'll  be  shore  to  git 
either  a  hoss  or  mule  to  Stockhouse's,  and 
then  ye  kin  take  right  over  the  mountin' 
to  Marshall,  and  be  thar  by  sundown." 

I  had  lost  time  in  this  interview,  and 
it  was  now  past  nine  o'clock  ;  but  the 
cool,  bracing  air  invited  exercise,  and  it 
was  less  than  five  miles  to  Stockhouse's. 
So,  crossing  the  rickety  bridge  at  the 
Springs,  I  was  soon  coursing  along  the 
river-road  at  a  pace  not  much  less  than 
that  of  a  Buncombe  County  pony.  I 
soon  came  to  Lovers'  Leap,  and,  from  a 
close  inspection  with  my  eyes  and  the 
limb  of  a  tree,  with  which  I  took  sound- 
ings, I  discovered  that  the  river  was  fully 
four  feet  deep  in  the  highway.  As  my 
lower  extremities,  though  reasonably 
long,  are  not  sufficiently  elongated  to 
ford  comfortably  that  depth  of  water,  I 
sat  down  on  a  stone  by  the  roadside  to 
devise  ways  and  means  to  overcome  this 
serious  obstacle. 

The  cliff,  as  has  been  said,  rises  a 
hundred  feet  in  a  sort  of  broken  perpen- 
dicularity. Here  and  there  upon  its  face 
was  growing  a  stunted  spruce  or  hem- 
lock, but  the  most  of  its  surface  was 


12 


ON   THE  FRENCH  BROAD. 


naked  rock,  on  which  could  be  seen  no 
trace  of  a  footprint,  not  even  that  of  a 
squirrel ;  and  yet  my  friend  the  shoe- 
maker had  scaled  this  precipice  and  lived 
to  tell  the  story.  How  he  did  it  I  could 
not  imagine,  and  therefore  shall  not  at- 
tempt to  describe. 

One  thing  was  reasonably  certain  :  I 
should  not  essay  the  foolhardy  enter- 
prise. But,  as  it  would  be  sheer  reck- 
lessness to  attempt  to  surmount  the 
difficulty,  how  could  I  manage  to  get 
round  it  ?  This  was  now  an  interesting 
problem,  and  to  aid  in  its  solution  I  drew 
out  my  pipe,  filled  it  with  some  of  the 
pure  "golden-leaf"  presented  me  by  my 
kindly  hostess,  and  went  to  smoking 
away  with  all  the  energy  of  Jonah  when 
imprisoned  in  the  bowels  of  the  whale, 
and  he,  I  had  been  told  in  this  country, 
"smoked  away  like  a  house  on  fire, 
smoked  away  to  kill,  smoked  away  till 
the  whale,  not  being  used  to  'backer, 
took  sick  at  the  stummach  and  throwed 
Jonah  right  up  on  the  coast  of  North 
Car'lina,  and  thet's  how  this  kentry 
come  to  be  diskivered." 

This  reading  of  the  Scripture  story  is 
not  according  to  the  "  Revised  Version," 
but  I  am  told  it  is  devoutly  believed  in 
some  of  the  back-country  districts  of 
Western  North  Carolina ;  and  the  moral 
of  it  is  that  if  Jonah  had  not  smoked 
tobacco  North  Carolina  would  not  have 
been  discovered,  nor  settled  by  the  pres- 
ent race  of  white  men,  nor  they  been 
able  to  boast,  as  some  of  them  do,  of  a 
very  elongated  pedigree. 

However,  be  the  Jonah  story  true  or 
not,  there  is  no  denying  the  fact  that 
there  is  great  virtue  in  a  whiff  of  tobacco. 
Let  who  will  rail  at  the  delicious  weed,  I 
do  not  propose  to  join  in  the  chorus,  for 
it  carried  me  over  thirty  feet  of  rushing 
water  with  scarcely  a  moistening  of  the 
soles  of  my  boots !  And  how  many  an- 
other has  it  helped  out  of  even  a  worse 
dilemma !  how  many  aching  heads  has 
it  soothed,  how  many  wounded  hearts 
assuaged  !  To  how  many  sluggish  brains 
has  it  lent  eloquent  expression  !  to  how 
many  half-fledged  poets,  vainly  trying  to 
expand  their  wings,  has  it  given  the  soar- 
ing inspiration  !  Even  upon  me  it  flashed 


the  needed  illuminations,  rousing  my  in- 
ventive faculties,  so  that  with  the  first 
wreath  of  gray  smoke  that  curled  up  from 
my  pipe  and  vanished  in  the  clear  wintry 
sky  I  saw  my  route  over  the  deluged 
causeway. 

Along  the  road,  and  between  it  and 
the  river,  was  a  low  breakwater  of  stones, 
intended  to  prevent  fractious  vehicles 
from  running  off  into  the  furious  torrent. 
At  the  edge  of  the  overflowed  road  this 
breakwater  was  nearly  three  feet  high, 
and,  though  the  submerged  portion  was 
hidden  by  the  turbid  stream,  it  was  rea- 
sonable to  suppose  that  the  wall  was  there 
equally  high.  If  this  were  so,  and  I 
should  place  loose  stones  a  foot  or  so 
in  thickness  upon  the  submerged  wall, 
what  was  to  prevent  my  stepping  safely 
from  one  stone  to  another  and  crossing 
as.  dry-shod  as  the  children  of  Israel 
when  they  passed  over  Jordan  ? 

Trimming  the  branches  from  the  limb 
of  a  tree,  to  serve  as  a  balancing-pole 
and  prevent  my  toppling  over  into  the 
river,  I  selected  suitable  stones  from  the 
side  of  the  road,  and,  dropping  them  one 
after  another  upon  the  sunken  break- 
water, essayed  the  perilous  passage.  One 
misplaced  or  unstable  stone,  or  one  false 
step,  would  plunge  me  into  the  stream  ; 
and  should  I  fall  on  the  river-side,  no 
amount  of  praying  would  avail  to  save 
me,  for  the  current  was  rushing  at  a 
speed  which  would  have  instantly  swept 
the  most  expert  swimmer  beyond  the 
reach  of  all  human  succor. 

Slowly  and  cautiously  I  moved  a  score 
of  heavy  stones  out  upon  the  sunken 
breakwater,  and,  with  my  pole  planted 
firmly  in  the  river's  bed,  felt  my  way  to 
and  fro  along  the  narrow  wall,  never 
venturing  to  look  down  at  the  rushing 
torrent,  lest  its  whirling  motion  should 
get  into  my  brain,  till  at  last,  after  a 
most  toilsome  hour,  I  planted  the  last 
stone  and  sprang  upon  the  dry  ground 
on  the  farther  side  of  the  deluged  high- 
way. Then  I  sat  down  on  the  break- 
water to  recover  my  expended  energies 
and  look  about  at  the  magnificent  sce-nery 
by  which  I  was  surrounded. 

A  more  picturesque  region  is  not  to 
be  found  in  this  country  east  of  the 


ON   THE   FRENCH  BROAD. 


Rocky  Mountains.  The  rapid,  turbu- 
lent river — here  not  less  than  two  hun- 
dred yards  wide — is  bordered  on  both 
sides  by  high,  rugged  hills,  broken  often 
into  tall,  jutting  cliffs,  which  rise  one 
above  another  to  a  height  of  more  than 
a  thousand  feet.  One  of  the  most 
striking  of  these  cliffs  is  that  which  I 
had  just  passed,  and  which  is  called 
Lovers'  Leap,  from  a  tradition  that  was 
current  among  the  Indians  when  it  was 
first  visited  by  the  two  white  hunters 
who  discovered  the  Warm  Springs  in 
1766. 
The  tradition  is  of  a  young  warrior 


and  maiden  belonging  to  tribes  divided 
by  long  hereditary  hatred.  They  loved 
not  wisely  but  too  well,  and,  forbidden 
to  marry  by  the  bitter  animosity  of  their 
people,  sought  a  permanent  union  in  the 
happy  hunting-grounds  of  the  hereafter. 
From  the  top  of  Lover's  Leap  they  sprang 
into  the  turbulent  bosom  of  the  French 
Broad,  and,  sinking  in  each  other's 
arms,  awoke  together  in  the  land  of 
Elysium.  It  is  the  story  of  Romeo  and 
Juliet  and  of  the  Montagues  and  Capu- 
lets,  originating  with  some  poet  of  the 
red  race  ages  before  the  white  man  came 
among  them  ;  and  what  is  most  remark- 


able is  the  universality  of  the  legend. 
It  is  current  from  the  Penobscot  to  the 
Rio  Grande,  and  everywhere,  in  every 
wild  region  where  rises  some  tall,  jutting 
rock  from  which  a  break-neck  leap  might 
comfortably  be  made,  is  the  same  legend, 
— the  same  hapless  lovers  standing  with 
clasped  hands  upon  the  high  summit  and 
leaping  together  into  an  eternal  bridal. 
Does  not  the  universality  of  the  legend 
show  it  to  be  a  fragment  of  some  aborig- 
inal Iliad  sung  by  some  Indian  Homer  in 
some  far-away  century  ? 

But,  leaving  the  dusky  lovers  to  their 


fate,  I  trudged  on  again,  and  the  reader 
may  imagine  my  dismay  when  at  the 
end  of  a  short  half-mile  I  came  upon 
another  tall  cliff  beetling  over  the  road, 
and  the  boisterous  river  ploughing  along 
its  base  with  a  depth  of  fully  six  feet. 
This  was  Peter's  Rock, — so  named  from 
a  hermit  who  is  said  to  have  made  his 
home  upon  this  summit  late  in  the  last 
century.  By  no  extemporaneous  break- 
water could  I  hope  to  ford  this  flood, 
and  one  upward  glance  at  the  precipitous 
cliff  convinced  me  that  it  would  take 
younger  legs  than  mine  to  scale  the  al- 


»4 


ON   THE  FRENCH  BROAD. 


most  perpendicular  rock.  The  logical 
conclusion  was  that  I  was  in  a  "box," 
— bottled  up,  corked,  and  hermetically 
sealed.  To  go  forward  seemed  impos- 
sible ;  going  backward  was  retracing  my 
steps  over  the  unsteadfast  causeway  at 
Lovers'  Leap.  To  get  out  of  the  "box  " 
seemed  hopeless ;  but,  calling  to  mind 
the  inventive  powers  of  "golden-leaf," 
I  again  sat  down  by  the  roadside,  lit 
my  corn-cob  pipe,  and  sent  a  few  whiffs 
of  the  fragrant  smoke  skyward. 

The  gray  wreaths  curled  lazily  up  into 
the  still  atmosphere ;  but  before  they 
had  melted  into  thin  air  I  heard  a  sound 
overhead,  and,  glancing  upward,  saw 
rising  out  of  the  earth  at  the  very  sum- 
mit of  Peter's  Rock  a  human  head, — or 
rather  a  human  hat,  badly  worn,  and 
perforated  with  sundry  holes,  through 
which  protruded  great  masses  of  black 
wool.  Eagerly  I  watched  the  apparition 
thus  evoked  by  the  wonderful  weed, 
and  rapidly  it  grew  into  a  human  form, 
— first  the  face,  then  the  "torso,"  then 
the  limbs,  and  at  last,  as  it  moved  down 
a  few  paces  from  the  topmost  height, 
the  feet.  And  such  feet !  They  re- 
minded me  of  those  of  the  dusky  maiden 
in  the  negro  hymn,  which  "covered  up 
the  whole  sidewalk."  As  I  looked  up 
at  the  figure,  it  seemed  at  least  seven 
feet  high  and  of  immense  proportions, 
— broad  of  shoulder  and  long  of  limb. 
It  was  a  very  Hercules,  though  sooty  of 
color  and  arrayed  in  the  horizontal  stripe 
which  is  the  State  uniform  of  North 
Carolina.  It  held  in  one  hand  a  long 
pole,  and  now,  planting  it  firmly  in  the 
edge  of  the  cliff,  it  paused  as  if  to  sur- 
vey the  ground  before  venturing  down 
the  declivity,  which  was  here  a  hundred 
feet  in  almost  perpendicular  descent. 

Soon  I  heard  a  voice  from  the  farther 
side  of  the  rock.  "Jack,"  it  said,  "bring 
yer  pole.  I  can't  fetch  dis  lass  stretch, 
nohow."  The  figure  then  moved  out  of 
sight,  but  soon  reappeared  with  another 
of  the  same  garb  and  complexion,  but  of 
less  herculean  proportions.  The  two 
paused  as  if  to  rest  for  a  few  moments 
at  the  summit  of  the  rock,  then,  moving 
a  short  distance  along  the  face  of  the 
cliff,  began  the  perilous  descent.  Slowly 


they  felt  their  way  down  the  ice-crusted 
slope,  planting  their  poles  at  every  step, 
and  often  clutching  at  some  stunted 
spruce ;  and  it  was  a  full  quarter  of  an 
hour  before  they  sprang  into  the  high- 
road and  stood  beside  me.  Looking  at 
them  on  level  ground,  I  saw  that  their 
proportions  were  not  so  absolutely  gigan- 
tic ;  and  yet  they  were  splendid  speci- 
mens of  physical  development,  and,  de- 
spite their  convict  garb,  had  good-hu- 
mored, honest  faces. 

"And  you  have  been  able  to  get  over 
that  rock  ?"  I  said  to  them. 

"Oh,  yes,  boss;  dat  am  nuffin,"  an- 
swered the  one  addressed  as  Jack.  "  It 
take  only  a  stout  pole  and  a  steady 
head." 

"And  a  stout  pair  of  legs.  Now,  Jack, 
suppose  I  give  you  enough  to  keep  you 
in  tobacco  for  a  month,  will  you  help  me 
over  this  rock  ?" 

"Jack  'ud  like  to,  boss;  but  he  can't 
see  how  he  could  gib  you  his  legs.  'Sides, 
we  hab  to  gwo  on  to  de  Springs  to  git 
suffin'  for  de  men :  dey'm  'bout  out  ob 
rations." 

"  But  it  won't  take  long ;  and  the  men 
won't  starve  for  an  hour's  delay." 

"  Dat's  so,  boss,"  answered  Jack  ;  "but 
how  kin  we  do  it  ?" 

"  I'll  cut  a  pole  like  yours ;  then  one 
of  you  go  before  me  and  the  other  fol- 
low, to  catch  me  in  case  I  slip." 

Jack  reflected  a  moment,  then  said, 
"  I  reckon  dat  ud  do  it.  We  am  a-willin' 
to  try,  boss." 

I  had  a  moderate  sum  of  money  about 
me,  and  to  guard  it  carried  a  revolver  in 
my  trousers-pocket.  The  weapon  would 
be  a  sufficient  protection  against  both 
convicts  on  level  ground,  but  ascending 
or  descending  that  precipice  I  could  not 
use  it,  and  so  should  be  completely  in 
the  power  of  those  two  stalwart  fellows 
whom  the  State  of  North  Carolina  had 
branded  as  high  -  pressure  scoundrels. 
However,  I  had  heard  that  "the  Lord 
writes  English,"  and  I  clearly  read  hon- 
esty in  their  faces :  so  I  cut  an  alpen- 
stock and  began  with  them  the  toilsome 
passage. 

I  slipped  several  times  while  ascend- 
ing, but  was  each  time  caught  by  one  of 


ON   THE   FRENCH  BROAD. 


the  negroes ;  and  in  descending  on  the 
opposite  side,  when  about  half-way  down, 
I  lost  my  foothold  altogether.  I  clutched 
a  shrub,  which  held  me  for  a  moment 
dangling  in  the  air  fifty  feet  above  the 
rocky  bed  of  the  road.  I  felt  the  shrub 
giving  way,  and  shouted,  "Jack!"  but 
before  the  word  was  out  of  my  mouth  his 
huge  hand  had  grasped  the  collar  of  my 
coat,  and  there  it  held  me  as  firmly  as  if 
our  feet  were  on  level  ground.  This  was 
the  most  dangerous  part  of  the  passage, 
and  for  the  rest  of  the  way  his  grasp  nev- 
er left  my  collar ;  and  in  several  places, 
where  the  distance  from  one  jutting  rock 
to  another  was  beyond  the  reach  of  my 
legs,  he  actually  lifted  me — a  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  solid  avoirdupois  — 
over  the  difficult  passes  with  as  much 
apparent  ease  as  he  would  have  handled 
a  bag  of  feathers. 

When  I  had  recovered  my  breath  at 
the  foot  of  the  cliff,  I  said  to  him,  "Jack, 
tell  me,  why  has  the  State  put  you  into 
those  clothes?" 

"  'Case,  boss,  dey  say  I  done  stole  a 
turkey  four  yere  ago  lass  Crismus." 

"  A  turkey  !  They  gave  you  four  years 
for  stealing  a  turkey  ?" 

"  Wuss'n  dat,  boss, — seven  yere.  But 
Mas'r  Stamp  he  say  dey'll  done  let  me 
out  'fore  de  time  am  clean  gone.  He'm 
bery  good  man,  and  I  reckon  dey'll  do 
as  he  say." 

"  Seven  years  for  stealing  a  turkey ! 
Well,  Jack,  that  was  a  high  price  for  a 
Christmas  dinner." 

"  It  was  dat,  boss,"  now  said  the  other 
negro  ;  "but  'twa'n't  like  what  dey  done 
wid  me :  dey  gub  me  five  yere  jess  for 
libin'  wid  my  wife  ;  a  good  ooman  as  I'd 
been  a-libin'  wid  ten  yere.  You  see, 
boss,  we  hadn't  been  a-jined  by  de  book, 
— nigh  on  to  nary  one  ob  my  color  am, — 
an'  it  am  ag'in  de  law  not  to  do  it ;  so 
dey  gub  me  five  yere.  But  'tain't  no 
more  dan  de  white  folks  do  demselfs ; 
dar  hain't  half  ob  de  white  folks  round 
yere  in  Madison  County  as  wus  eber 
jined  by  de  book." 

"But  I  don't  see  them  working  on  the 
road,"  I  remarked.  "You  mean  the  law 
is  not  enforced  against  them  ?" 

"  Dat'm  so,  boss,"  said  Jack.     "'Pears 


to  me  dar  hain't  no  justice  for  a  man  ob 
my  color  down  yere.  Long  time  ago, 
when  I  was  a  little  chile,  I  yered  dat  de 
good  Mas'r  Linkum  had  sot  all  de  brack 
folks  free  ;  but  'tain't  so,  boss.  We  hain't 
no  more  free  dan  de  hoss  or  de  mule  dat 
you  drives  'bout  and  beats  like  you  hab 
a  mind." 

"  But  why  is  this,  Jack  ?  No  one  ever 
does  an  injustice  without  having  a  reason 
for  it." 

"  It'm  'case  dey  hab  dese  railroads  to 
build,  boss,  an'  doin'  dat  dey  git  our 
wurk  for  jess  our  clothes  and  de  rations 
dey  gib  us, — an'  dey'm  pore  'nuff,  boss, 
pore  'nuff.  'Sides,  boss,  de  white  folks 
don't  like  to  see  de  black  folks  git  on ; 
jess  so  soon  as  one  ob  us  am  'dustrious 
an'  like  to  git  up  a  little  in  de  worl',  dey 
git  up  some  false  sw'arin'  ag'in'  him  an' 
git  him  inter  de  chain-gang,  like  dey 
done  me.  It  was  false  sw'arin'  as  done 
it.  I  neber  stole  no  turkey ;  I  neber 
stole  nuffin  in  all  my  life." 

"  I  can  believe  it,  Jack.  Men  with  a 
face  like  yours  don't  do  such  things. 
But  how  is  it  that,  being  convicts,  you 
are  allowed  to  come  and  go  without  a 
guard  ?" 

"Oh,  dat's  along  ob  Mas'r  Stamp,  sar. 
He  t'ought  we  wudn't  run  'way,  so  he 
hab  us  made  trustys.  But  we  hab  to  be 
in  de  quarters  ebery  night  an'  gwo  'bout 
our  work  prompt  like." 

"And  who  is  Mas'r  Stamp?" 

"  He'm  de  great  man  'p'inted  by  de 
State  to  luck  after  de  whole  ob  us  ebery- 
whar.  He  sees  dat  we  hab  'nuff  to  eat 
an'  to  wear,  all,  up  to  de  bery  last  morsel 
dat  de  State  allows.  He'm  a  good  man, 
an'  ajuss  man,  sar;  an'  I  knows — dough 
he  neber  said  it,  but  I  knows  from  de 
look  in  his  eye  and  de  sound  ob  his 
voice  when  he  speak  to  us — dat  he  feel 
for"  us  'way  down  to  de  bottom  ob  his 
heart.  He'm  a  very  good  man, — one  ob 
de  Lord's  own  chillen." 

It  was  touching,  this  gratitude  of  the 
poor  convict  toward  the  man  who,  how- 
ever kind  he  might  be,  was  still,  if  Jack 
told  me  the  truth,  the  agent  in  inflicting 
upon  him  a  most  cruel  wrong,  an  acces- 
sory after  the  fact  in  a  great  crime.  But 
could  Jack's  tale  be  true  ?  Could  a  great 


16 


ON   THE  FRENCH  BROAD. 


State  permit  such  injustice  to  be  practised 
upon  any  class  of  its  citizens  ?  I  could 
not  believe  it,  for  I  called  to  mind  the 
couplet, — 

No  man  e'er  felt  the  halter  draw 
With  good  opinion  of  the  law, — 

and  the  doubt  checked  my  sympathies ; 
yet  when  I  came  to  reward  the  two  men 
for  the  service  they  had  done  me,  the 
sum  was  several  times  larger  than  I  had 
promised  to  make  it.  Then  I  trudged 
on  again  to  Stockhouse's. 

The  distance  was  only  four  miles,  but 
the  road  was  so  horribly  bad  that  I  made 
very  slow  progress ;  and  when  I  came 
to  the  Laurel  Run  I  found  that  the  bridge, 
though  not  actually  carried  away,  had 
been  so  badly  damaged  by  the  recent 
freshet  as  to  afford  unsafe  crossing  for 
even  foot-passengers.  The  only  course 
was  to  cross  upon  the  long  trestle  which 
here  spans  the  stream ;  and,  encrusted 
as  the  stringers  and  sleepers  now  were 
with  ice,  this  was  a  tedious  and  difficult 
undertaking.  It  occupied  me  a  full  half- 
hour,  and  it  was  long  after  the  dinner- 
hour  when  I  entered  the  small  country 
store  which,  with  a  snug  cottage  half-way 
up  the  hill,  composes  the  summer  resort 
known  as  Stockhouse's.  The  deaf  land- 
lord was  behind  the  store  counter,  and 
he  was  not  long  in  conveying  to  me  the 
unpleasant  intelligence  that  my  dinner 
would  have  to  be  of  crackers  and  cheese, 
all  the  hotel  servants  being  away  for 
Christmas.  "Niggers  nowadays,"  he 
added,  "are  just  good  for  nothing.  They 
go  and  come  when  they  like  ;  and  if  you 
complain,  they  leave  you  altogether." 

But  more  than  my  dinner  I  mourned 
the  loss  of  the  spirited  mule  I  had  ex- 
pected to  secure  at  Stockhouse's.  I  was 
told  that  he  was  a  "noble  critter,"  and 
astride  of  him  I  could  safely  swim  the 
swollen  streams  and  be  in  Marshall  long 
before  sundown  ;  but  the  landlord  would 
not  trust  him  with  "nary  stranger,"  not 
even  if  he  were  paid  the  "  full  valu'  of 
the  critter,"  unless  one  of  his  own  darkies 
should  go  along  to  bring  back  the  animal. 
However,  a  man  about  a  mile  up  the 
road  had  a  mule,  which,  as  he  was  a  pore 
man,  he  would  no  doubt  let  go  for  a 
proper  con  sid-er-a-tion.  So,  with  that 


"pore  man's"  mule  in  my  mind,  I 
trudged  on  again. 

I  soon  arrived  at  a  shanty  by  the  side 
of  the  track,  which  at  first  I  took  for  a 
dilapidated  pig-sty.  A  slatternly  woman 
was  in  the  door-way,  of  whom  I  inquired 
for  the  mule's  owner.  He  was,  she  said, 
her  husband,  and  he  and  the  mule  had 
both  gone  on  to  Marshall,  and  wouldn't 
be  back  "afore  sundown,"  but  if  I  went 
on  about  two  miles  to  the  convict-station 
I  should  be  sure  to  get  one,  for  Captain 

R ,  who  held  command  there,  had  a 

"heap  of  mule  critters." 

So  again  I  trudged  on, — this  time  with 
several  mules  in  my  mind.  I  passed 
numerous  gangs  of  convicts  on  the  way, 
with  the  guards  and  overseers  who  were 
directing  their  work.  The  convicts  were 
mostly  black,  healthy,  robust,  and  pow- 
erful fellows,  whose  labor  was  certainly 
cheap  at  the  price — a  hundred  and  twenty 
dollars  a  year — paid  by  the  contractors. 
But  time  was  precious  with  me  :  so,  with 
a  passing  salutation  to  the  guards,  I  hur- 
ried on,  and  at  the  end  of  two  hours  came 
to  the  convict-station. 

It  was  a  collection  of  whitewashed 
shanties,  where  the  prisoners  were 
housed  at  night,  and  I  judged  it  would 
accommodate  the  number  I  had  passed 
on  the  road,  which  was  about  five  hun- 
dred. In  a  spacious  log  barn  near  the 
track  was  a  pair  of  fine  hybrids,  either 
one  of  which  would  have  taken  me  to 
Marshall  in  time  for  a  sumptuous  hot 
supper;  and,  with  that  repast  already 
partaken  of  in  imagination,  I  rapped  at 
the  door  of  the  "office,"  where  I  was 

told  I  should  find  Captain  R ,  the 

commander-in-chief  of  the  prisoners. 
Some  one  growled,  "  Come  in,"  and  I 
went  into  a  room  about  twelve  feet  square, 
littered  over  with  broken  bottles,  old  har- 
ness, worn-out  saddles,  and  cast-off  gar- 
ments, about  the  filthiest  apartment  ever 
tenanted  by  a  human  being.  A  wood 
fire  was  smouldering  on  the  hearth,  and 
in  one  corner  was  a  huge  soap-box,  made 
to  do  duty  as  a  desk ;  in  the  other,  a  low 
tattered  bed,  the  bedstead  manufactured 
from  old  joist  clapboards  which  had  been 
torn  from  some  dismantled  dwelling. 
At  one  end  of  this  bed  was  a  pair  of  huge 


ON   THE   FRENCH  BROAD. 


Wellington  boots,  at  the  other  an  enor- 
mous black  beard,  from  above  which 
protruded  a  couple  of  owl-like  eyes ;  but, 
partly  owing  to  the  beard  and  partly  to 
the  duskiness  of  the  room.  I  could  dis- 
tinguish no  other  human  features.  The 
figure  lay  at  full  length,  and  motionless, 
except  that  the  eyes  turned  slightly  in 
their  sockets  on  my  entrance,  as  if  to  in- 
quire my  business. 

I  soon  made  it  known,  when  there  was 
a  movement  of  the  beard,  and  a  cavern- 
ous voice  issuing  from  its  dark  depths 
replied,  "  Sorry,  sir,  but  both  my  mules 
is  over  the  mountain." 


"  I  saw  a  pair  as  I  passed  your  barn  ; 
can't  you  let  one  of  those  go  ?  I  am  a 
stranger,  but  I  will  deposit  his  full  value 
with  you." 

"Sorry,  sir,  but  them  hain't  my  mules, 
— can't  let  'em  go  for  no  price.  If  you 
go  on  'bout  three  miles  to  Barnard's 
Stand,  you'll  get  one  thar.  They  hev  a 
heap  of  mule  critters." 

I  had  negro  evidence  that  the  two 
mules  I  had  seen  were  the  property  of 
the  recumbent  gentleman  ;  but  those  gi- 
gantic boots  and  that  ferocious  beard 
made  it  evident  that  it  would  not  be  wise 
to  disclose  my  knowledge.  Such  fellows, 


LAUREL   RUN    BRIDGE   AND   THE    FRENCH    BROAD. 


though  the  most  accomplished  liars  in 
creation,  have  a  strong  repugnance  to 
being  informed  of  the  fact,  and  when  so 
told  invariably  call  for  "pistols  and  cof- 
fee" without  ceremony. 

With  that  last  "  heap  of  mule  critters" 
now  in  my  mind  I  took  to  the  road  again, 
and  trudged  on  to  Barnard's  Stand.  I 
had  come  about  ten  miles  over  probably 
the  worst  road  ever  invented  in  this  coun- 
try. Where  it  was  not  slush  and  railroad- 
ties  it  was  broken  stones  and  ice-covered 
rocks,  among  which  I  had  to  pick  my 
way  with  great  caution.  The  thermome- 
ter was  now  falling  rapidly,  and  the  night 
was  fast  coming  on.  Marshall  was  still 
ten  miles  away,  and  between  me  and  it 
there  was  not  a  solitary  house  where  I 


could  get  decent  lodging.  In  fact,  there 
was  scarcely  a  building  that  could  be  dig- 
nified with  the  name  of  dwelling.  The 
road  ran  between  the  river  and  the  moun- 
tain-cliffs, and,  except  at  Barnard's 
Stand,  there  was  not  on  the  whole  route 
a  patch  of  arable  land  large  enough  for 
a  flower-garden.  The  house  at  Barnard's 
Stand,  I  was  told,  was  little  better  than 
a  pig-sty,  and  if  I  should  fail  to  secure 
one  from  among  that  "heap  of  mule 
critters"  I  should  be  forced  to  ford  swol- 
len streams  and  cross  slippery  trestles,  at 
the  imminent  risk  of  my  neck,  after 
dark,  and  not  get  to  Marshall  before 
midnight, — altogether  too  late  for  that 
hot  repast  on  which  I  had  already  regaled 
in  imagination.  The  outlook  was  some- 


18 


ON   THE   FRENCH  BROAD. 


what  discouraging,  but  I  walked  briskly 
on,  and  at  last  came  upon  an  opening 
among  the  hills,  where  a  sadly-dilapi- 
dated frame  house  and  a  half-dozen 
negro  shanties  answer  to  the  name  of 
Barnard's  Stand. 

Not  a  solitary  mule  was  in  sight,  and 
my  heart  sank  suddenly  several  degrees 
below  zero ;  but,  plucking  up  courage,  I 
strode  boldly  to  the  house  and  asked  for 

Captain  B ,  who,  I  had  been  told  by 

the  bearded  commander-in-chief,  was 
the  owner  of  the  animals. 

A  ragged,  old-looking  boy  of  about 
twelve  years,  who  answered  my  sum- 
mons, said  that  his  father  was  in  the  "sit- 
ting-room," and  at  once  led  the  way  to 
that  apartment.  From  the  outer  wall  of 
this  room  had  evidently  come  the  joist 
and  weather-boarding  which  formed  Cap- 
tain R 's  bedstead,  for  there  was  an 

opening  in  its  side  as  large  as  an  ordi- 
nary window.  The  inside  walls  and 
ceiling  were  black  with  smoke,  and  two 
or  three  broken-backed  split-bottom 
chairs  were  the  only  furniture  of  the 
apartment.  Crouched  over  a  huge  fire 
which  blazed  on  the  hearth  was  the  figure 
of  a  man  clad  in  mud-besmeared  "  but- 
ternuts." He  was  lean  and  raw-boned, 
with  a  cadaverous  countenance  which 
was  surmounted  by  a  shaggy  shock  of 
unkempt  hair.  Under  both  his  eyes 
were  heavy  black  blotches,  showing  that 
his  face  had  gone  into  mourning  over 
some  recent  sin  of  violence  he  had  com- 
mitted. He  was  evidently  just  recover- 
ing from  a  deep  debauch,  and  this  had 
been  his  way  of  celebrating  the  birthday 
of  Him  who  came  into  the  world  to  seek 
and  to  save  just  such  wretched  perver- 
sions of  humanity  as  he  was. 

I  made  known  my  wants  to  him,  add- 
ing that  Captain  R had  assured  me 

that  he  could  supply  me  with  either  a 
horse  or  a  mule  with  which  to  get  on  to 
Marshall. 

"  Captain  R is  a  d d  liar,  sir. 

He  knows  thar  hain't  nary  mule  within 
five  mile  of  here,"  he  answered  fiercely. 

Despite  the  difficult  position  I  was  in, 
I  had  to  smile  at  the  ferocious  energy 
with  which  the  man  uttered  this  speech, 


and  I  said,  "Isn't  it  unhealthy  to  use  ex- 
pressions of  that  kind  in  this  latitude  ?" 

"  Not  to  such  a  cuss  as  he  are.  He's 
both  a  liar  and  a  coward ;  but,  coward 
or  not,  I  allers  speak  what  I  think,  and 
take  the  consequences." 

"I've  no  doubt  you  do;  you  look  like 
a  brave  man,  and  a  good-natured  one 
too.  So  I  feel  sure  you'll  in  some  way 
help  me  on  to  Marshall." 

"  I  would  if  I  could, — I  sw'ar  I  would, 
— but  I  don't  see  how  in  the  world  I  kin 
do  it." 

"I'll  tell  you  how.  I  noticed  along- 
side the  track,  as  I  turned  down  here,  a 
dump-car.  Now,  rig  up  a  couple  of 
darkies,  and  let  them  take  me  on  with 
that  to  Marshall.  I  will  pay  them  well 
for  it." 

"  How  much  will  you  pay  ?"  asked  the 
old-fashioned  boy,  not  giving  his  father 
time  to  answer. 

"  Whatever  you  ask,  if  it  doesn't  over- 
go my  pile." 

"Will  you  give  a  dollar, — in  two  half- 
dollars  ?"  asked  the  boy. 

"  Yes,  I  will, — two  just  out  of  the  mint ; 
and  I'll  give  more,  if  you  ask  it." 

"No,  that's  enough,"  said  the  father. 
"You  can  get  the  nigs  to  go  for  fifty 
cents,  Sam,  and  put  the  rest  in  your 
pocket." 

"And  if  you  hadn't  said  nothing  I'd 
ha'  put  a  dollar  and  fifty  cents  in  my 
pocket,"  said  the  dutiful  son.  Then  to 
me  he  added,  "  Dad  hain't  wuth  shocks 
at  a  trade  ;  thet's  the  why  we'se  so  pore. 
But  you'll  pay  in  advance  ?" 

"Yes,  and  give  you  the  two  dollars," 
handing  him  the  silver.  "Now,  Sam, 
make  the  best  trade  you  can  with  the 
darkies,  and  tell  them  I'll  give  them  a 
dollar  more  if  they  get  me  to  Marshall 
before  nine  o'clock." 

"  I  will,  sir,"  he  said,  and  he  popped 
out  of  the  room  like  a  bullet  out  of  a 
musket-barrel.  When  he  was  gone,  his 
father  drew  a  black  flask  from  his 
pocket,  and,  picking  up  a  broken  glass 
from  the  floor  beside  him,  said  to  me, 
"I  say,  stranger,  take  a  little  apple-jack, 
— 'twill  warm  you  up :  you've  a  cold  ride 
before  you." 


ON  THE  FRENCH  BROAD. 


CLIFFS   ALONG   THE    FRENCH    BROAD    RIVER,  NEAR 
LOVERS'    LEAP. 


"  No,  my  friend  ;  I  can  stand  the  cold 
better  without  that  kind  of  wanning." 

"Well,  I  thought  you  was  a  Yankee 
when  you  come  in ;  now  I  know  it." 
This  was  said  in  a  friendly  tone,  and  not 
at  all  disrespectfully, 

"  How  do  you  know  I  am  a  Yankee  ?" 

"  By  your  being  so  free  with  your 
money,  and  knowing  enough  not  to 


P  drink  before  going   i; 
out  into  the  cold." 
"What     do     you 
know  about  the  Yankees  ?" 

"A  heap.  I  was  a  prisoner 
to  Johnson's  Island,  and  after 
the  surrender  I  stayed  three 
years  among  them." 

"Well,   my  friend,  I   am  a 
Yankee,  and,   whatever   you 
are,  you're  a  very  decent  fel- 
low ;  you've  only  one  fault, — and  if  you 
won't  shoot  me  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is." 

"I  won't.  What  is  it?"  he  asked, 
smiling. 

"And  you  won't  draw  that  butcher- 
knife  you  carry  in  the  back  pocket  of 
your  trousers  ?" 

"I  don't  carry  one:  so  I  won't  draw 
it,"  he  answered,  now  laughing  outright. 


ON   THE  FRENCH  BROAD. 


"Well,  it's  that  flask  of  apple-jack  in 
your  side-pocket.  Throw  it  away,  and 
there  isn't  anything  vou  couldn't  make 
of  yourself." 

"  Do  you  b'lieve  that  ?" 

"  I  don't  believe  it ;  I  know  it." 

"Then,  I  sw'ar,  I'll  throw  it  away." 

"  Do  it  at  once.  Pitch  it  out  of  the 
window,  and  never  taste  the  cursed  stuff 
again." 

He  took  the  flask  from  his  pocket  and 
gazed  at  it  fixedly  for  a  moment ;  then 
he  said,  "  But  how  kin  I  do  it,  stranger? 
What  other  comfort  has  a  man  that  has 
had  such  losses  and  disappointments  as 
I've  had  ?  It's  only  when  I  take  it  that 
I  feel  like  a  man." 

"It's  only  a  bogus  manhood.  No  man 
who  takes  it  habitually  has  any  real  man- 
liness. It  keeps  him  poor,  and  it  makes 
his  wife  and  children  suffer.  I  wouldn't 
hurt  your  feelings,  but  I  can  see  that  Sam 
knows  it  is  ruining  you  :  so  give  it  up  on 
the  boy's  account,  if  for  no  other  reason." 

The  man  rose  and  paced  the  room 
with  an  unsteady  step  for  a  few  mo- 
ments ;  then  he  paused,  and,  turning  to 
me,  said,  "  Be  you  a  preacher  ?" 

"No,  I  am  not;  and  I  have  no  dis- 
position to  preach  to  you  ;  but  I've  seen 
a  good  deal  of  the  world,  and  it  isn't  in 
me  to  see  a  fine,  manly  fellow  like  you 
going  straight  to  the  devil  without  saying 
a  word  to  stop  him." 

He  took  a  few  more  turns  up  and 
down  the  room  while  I  was  speaking, 
and  then,  with  a  long  swing  of  his  arm, 
he  threw  the  flask  of  apple-jack  out  of 
the  opening  in  the  weather-boarding, 
saying,  when  he  had  done  so,  "  Sir,  I 
don't  know  your  name,  and  I  may  never 
see  you  again,  but  I  promise  you,  before 
the  God  that  made  us,  never  to  taste  a 
drop  of  the  cursed  stuff  from  this  time 
forth  forever." 

He  kept  his  word,  as  I  learned  from 
him  and  others  more  than  a  year  after 
this  occurrence.  He  told  me  then  that 
he  had  often  before  come  to  the  brink 
of  that  resolution,  and  that  when  I  met 
him  it  needed  only  a  feather  to  turn  the 
trembling  scale  which  was  to  decide  his 
future.  That  feather  was  my  reference 
to  his  boy  Sam. 


I  record  this  little  incident  simply  to 
encourage  those  who  would  do  unobtrus- 
ive good  by  the  wayside.  We  know  lit- 
tle how  much  a  few  words  dropped  here 
and  there  and  "fitly  spoken"  may  help 
some  poor  fellow  who  has  fallen  and  is 
struggling  to  get  upon  his  feet  again. 

The  reader  has  never  ridden  seven 
miles  on  the  six-feet-by-six  deck  of  a 
dump-car,  seated  on  a  block  of  wood 
and  unable  to  change  his  position,  on 
a  cloudy  night,  with  the  wind  blowing 
keenly  down  a  mountain-gorge,  and  the 
thermometer  in  the  near  neighborhood 
of  zero.  He  has  never  had  such  a  three- 
hours'  experience  on  a  steep  up-grade, 
and  therefore  cannot  sympathize  with  my 
feelings  when  at  half-past  eight  o'clock  I 
staggered  off  that  dump-car  and  into  the 
warm,  cheerful,  hospitable  inn  at  Mar- 
shall. 

Marshall  is  without  doubt  the  only  fin- 
ished town  in  the  United  States.  Built 
along  a  narrow  shelf  of  land,  between 
the  river  and  the  mountain-ridge,  it  has 
no  room  for  expansion,  and  the  spirit  of 
enterprise  which  is  beginning  to  animate 
Western  North  Carolina  must  look  else- 
where for  a  suitable  field  for  its  operations. 
Here  it  will  have  no  space  to  spread.  It 
is  a  drowsy  place,  and  not  yet  fully  awak- 
ened from  the  Rip-Van-Winkle  nap  in 
which  this  whole  section  has  been  sunk 
for  unrecorded  centuries.  There  is  a  som- 
niferous quality  in  its  very  atmosphere, 
which  somehow  crept  into  my  veins  and 
held  me  for  ten  long  hours  in  most  pro- 
found slumber,  after  my  long  and  un- 
comfortable ride  on  the  dump-car.  The 
sun,  and  everybody  else,  had  been  long 
up  and  about  his  business,  when  I  open- 
ed my  eyes  on  the  following  morning  and 
looked  around  the  two-bedded  room  into 
which  I  had  been  ushered  the  night  be- 
fore. 

A  bright  hickory  fire  was  blazing  on  the 
hearth,  and  before  it  sat  a  gentleman, 
evidently  not  "a  native,"  for  he  was  clad 
in  the  raiment  of  outside  civilization, 
and  not  in  the  butternut  garb  common 
to  this  region.  He  was  canted  back 
in  a  chair,  one  foot  planted  against  the 
wall,  and  he  seemed  engrossed  in  watch- 
ing the  smoke  as  it  curled  up  from  the 


ON   THE   FRENCH  BROAD. 


21 


short  Powhatan  pipe  he  was  smoking. 
Everybody —man,  woman,  and  child — 
smokes  in  this  region,  and  does  so  on  all 
occasions.  Tobacco  is  the  staple  produc- 
tion of  the  district,  and  the  people  be- 
lieve in  encouraging  domestic  industry. 
The  men  use  "plug"  and  "short-cut," 
the  women  "plug"  and  "maccaboy," 
the  last  being  usually  taken  in  the  mode 
denominated  "dipping."  Hence  it  was 
not  at  all  strange  that  the  aforesaid  gen- 
tleman should  be  smoking  in  my  bed- 
room before  I  was  awake  in  the 
morning.  However,  he  had  as 
large  an  ownership  in  the  apart- 
ment as  I,  for  I  very  soon  learned 
that  he  had  occupied  the  bed  in  the 
opposite  corner,  and,  more  to  my 
surprise,  that  he  was  the  identical 
person  on  whom  "Jack"  had  pro- 
nounced so  warm  a  eulogy  the  day 
before. 

When  this  last  fact  disclosed  it- 
self, I  said  to  him,  "Oh,  ho!  then 
you're  the  gentleman  of  whom  I 
heard  such  a  character  yesterday." 
"What  sort  of  a  character,  sir?" 
he  asked,  smiling. 

"That  you  are  a  '  bery  good  man, 
sir, — one  of  the  Lord's  own  chillen,' 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"I  see  you  have  been  interviewing 
the  convicts,"  he  answered,  evident- 
ly not  displeased  with  the  bluntness  of 
my  remark.     "I  suppose  they  do  think 
well  of  me,  for  I  try  to  do  my  duty  by 
them." 

He  then  replied  very  freely  to  my  in- 
terrogations, and  said  that  he  had  no 
doubt  that  the  stories  told  by  Jack  and 
the  other  convict  were  true ;  that  the 
policy  in  many  parts  of  the  State  was  to 
inflict  severe  punishment  upon  the  blacks 
for  very  trifling  offences,  many  of  the 
justices  acting  on  the  opinion  that  noth- 
ing but  extreme  severity  would  restrain 
the  negro  from  his  natural  disposition  to 
thievery.  This  was  not  his  own  view : 
he  thought  that  not  the  severity  but  the 
certainty  of  punishment  was  what  de- 
terred from  crime.  Probably  one-half 
of  the  blacks  then  undergoing  sentences 
of  from  three  to  ten  years  had  been  con- 
victed of  offences  that  were  properly 


"petty  larcenies;"  but  neither  the  State 
nor  its  officials  were  responsible  for  this 
harshness,  perhaps  injustice.  It  was  the 
act  of  the  local  justices  before  whom  the 
negroes  were  tried ;  and  they  should  not 
be  judged  too  harshly,  for  the  negroes 
were  now  a  difficult  class  to  deal  with, 
and  if  they  were  not  kept  in  order  no 
white  man  could  live  in  the  State.  There 
were  no  doubt  individual  cases  where 
innocent  men  had  been  made  to  suffer, 
but  such  cases  occurred  in  administering 


THE   UNITED   STATES   MAIL. 

justice   everywhere, — North  as   well   as 
South. 

There  was  not  a  horse  or  a  mule  in 
the  entire  town  that  I  could  hire  to  take 
me  on  to  Alexander's,  a  one-house  town, 
about  eleven  miles  to  the  eastward.  No 
one  was  willing  to  risk  his  animal  in 
swimming  the  Ivy,  a  mountain-stream 
that  flows  into  the  French  Broad  about  a 
mile  up  the  road,  and  which  was  now 
very  much  swollen  and  rushing  in  a 
furious  torrent.  But  the  landlord  had  in 
his  stable  a  colt,  "two  year  old  next 
spring,"  which  belonged  to  a  Mr.  Brown, 
who  lived  up  the  river  about  four  miles 
on  the  hither  side  of  Alexander's.  He 
had  been  ridden  down  by  a  gentleman 
before  "the  fresh,"  and  the  landlord  had 
been  waiting  ever  since  for  some  one  fool 
enough  to  risk  getting  him  home  over 
the  Ivy.  The  colt  was  kind,  but  way- 


22 


ON   THE  FRENCH  BROAD. 


ward  and  unbroken,  and  if  I  was  dis- 
posed to  risk  my  neck  upon  his  back  the 
landlord  had  no  objection. 

Calling  to  mind  the  adage,  "any  port 
in  a  storm,"  which  for  the  occasion  I 
rendered  "any  vehicle  in  an  emergency," 
I  asked  for  an  introduction  to  his  colt- 
ship.  The  hostler  led  him  out  into  the 
street,  which,  from  the  contracted  char- 
acter of  the  town,  had  to  do  duty  as  a 
stable-yard,  and  then  put  him  "through 
his  paces,"  as  a  jockey  does  a  horse 
when  about  to  sell  the  animal.  He  was 
a  nondescript  beast,  about  fourteen  hands 
high,  of  a  dun-brown  color,  and  with  a 
coat  as  shaggy  as  a  spaniel's.  He  looked 
as  if  he  had  not  been  combed  since  he 
was  born,  and  even  through  his  rough 
coat  I  could  count  every  rib  in  his  body. 
But  he  had  an  eye  which  showed  there 
was  a  spirit  within  him:  large  and  lus- 
trous, it  was  also  gentle  and  coquettish 
as  any  woman's.  I  stepped  up  to  him, 
and,  patting  him  on  the  neck,  asked  his 
name  of  the  landlord. 

"Sam,"  he  answered.  "And  he 
knows  it.  Bid  him  good-morning." 

I  did  so,  and  instantly  the  colt  bowed 
his  head  and  lifted  his  right  fore  foot, 
which  I  took  in  my  hand  and  shook 
gently. 

"  Now  talk  to  him  and  see  if  he  don't 
understand  you," 

"Sam,  my  boy,  do  you  want  to  go 
home?"  I  asked;  and  Sam  bowed  his 
head  in  assent. 

"If  I  take  you  along  will  you  behave 
like  a  gentleman  ?"  Another  bow  was 
the  prompt  reply. 

"Now  ask  him  something  that  requires 
'  no  '  for  an  answer." 

"Are  you  afraid  to  swim  the  Ivy  ?" 

He  shook  his  head  instantly,  but  think- 
ing he  might  not  have  understood  me, 
and  seeing  the  advantage  of  having  the 
wild  youth  fully  pledged  to  good  beha- 
vior, I  changed  the  form  of  the  previous 
question  :  "  Will  you  run  away  with  me 
and  break  my  neck  ?" 

A  shake  of  the  head,  twice  repeated, 
was  the  prompt  reply.  Then  I  put  my 
arm  about  his  neck,  and  he  put  his  face 
against  mine  and  stroked  my  beard  in  a 
fondling  manner.  "  You  and  I  are  going 


to  be  good  friends,  Sam,"  I  said,  patting 
him  affectionately.  Instantly  he  nodded 
his  head  very  decidedly  by  way  of  affir- 
mation. 

I  concluded  that  the  pony  had  been 
trained  to  distinguish  between  questions 
meant  to  be  answered  "yes"  and  "no" 
from  the  inflections  of  the  voice ;  but  I 
am  simply  recording  a  fact,  and  I  leave 
it  to  those  who  deny  to  brutes  an  intelli- 
gence less  in  degree,  but  similar  in  kind, 
to  that  of  man  to  give  the  fact  an  ex- 
planation. 

"  It  is  a  wonderful  animal,  Mr.  Gudger," 
I  said  to  the  landlord.  "I  would  trust 
him  to  take  me  anywhere." 

"It's  just  as  you  say,  sir,"  he  answer- 
ed. "  If  he  breaks  your  neck  it  won't  be 
my  funeral." 

The  colt  was  soon  saddled,  and  we  set 
out  on  the  journey.  He  went  along  very 
well  until  we  had  passed  the  railroad- 
station  and  crossed  the  track  to  where 
the  road,  going  down  a  steep  incline, 
runs  close  to  the  river-bank  and  was 
here  and  there  still  overflowed  with  wa- 
ter. Here  he  slackened  his  pace  and 
began  to  pick  his  way  very  gingerly,  as 
if  afraid  of  wetting  his  feet.  Tiring  of 
this  at  last,  I  touched  him  gently  with  a 
switch  I  had  cut  at  starting.  Instantly 
his  head  revolved  in  a  savage  shake, 
but  he  did  not  alter  his  pace.  Then  I 
touched  him  again,  this  time  a  little  more 
smartly,  when  quick  as  a  flash  of  light- 
ning his  head  went  down  and  his  hind 
heels  went  up  to  an  angle  of  about  nine- 
ty. I  was  as  quick  as  he,  or  he  would 
have  thrown  me  over  his  head  and  upon 
the  sharp  rocks  which  had  been  blasted 
from  the  railroad-bed  above  us,  and  which 
here  littered  the  whole  highway.  He 
now  stood  stock  still,  his  legs  as  firmly 
planted  on  the  ground  as  if  they  had 
been  pillars  of  masonry.  Evidently, 
moral  suasion  was  the  only  argument 
suited  to  the  occasion,  so  I  spoke  to 
him  kindly  :  "  Get  up,  Sam.  I  see  I 
made  a  mistake.  I  won't  use  the  switch 
again." 

But  Sam  was  not  disposed  to  take  my 
unsupported  word.  He  still  stood  as  if 
rooted  to  the  ground,  but  quiet  as  a 
Quaker  meeting,  and  unconcerned  as  if 


ON   THE   FRENCH  BROAD. 


listening  to  a  political  oration.  Seeing 
that  he  required  ocular  demonstration 
of  my  good  intentions,  I  tossed  the  switch 
over  his  head,  saying,  as  I  did  so,  "  You 
see,  I  mean  what  I  say :  so  get  on,  Sam, 
that's  a  good  fellow."  He  nodded  his 
head,  and  then  went  on  as  before,  pick- 
ing his  way  again  carefully  around  the 


many   puddles   and   broken   rocks  that 
encumbered  the  high-road. 

It  was  not  long  before,  looking  off  at 
the  river,  I  noticed  two  distinct  currents, 
both  coffee -colored,  but  one  several 
shades  darker  than  the  other,  flowing 
along  side  by  side,  but  refusing  to  mingle, 
and  each  keeping  its  separate  way  for  a 


MARSHALL,    NORTH    CAROLINA. 


long  distance.  The  one  nearer  the  shore 
I  knew  to  be  the  Ivy,  and  just  above 
must  be  the  place  where  I  had  to  cross. 
I  raised  myself  in  the  stirrups  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  stream  where  it  issues 
from  the  mountain,  and  just  then  espied 
a  "  solitary  horseman  "  emerging  from  the 
ravine  through  which  it  pours  into  the 
French  Broad.  He1  was  clad  in  common 


linsey,  with  high  top-boots  and  a  hat  that 
would  have  been  a  curiosity  anywhere 
but  in  this  region  of  nondescript  head- 
gear. And,  by  the  way,  if  some  enter- 
prising individual  were  to  make  a  collec- 
tion of  the  hats  worn  among  these  moun- 
tains, he  would  be  sure  to  realize  a  for- 
tune by  their  exhibition.  I  never  saw 
two  alike,  nor  any  one  that  at  all  resem- 


ON   THE  FRENCH  BROAD. 


bled  anything  ever  worn  by  man  in  any 
civilized  country. 

The  horseman  was  mounted  on  a  raw- 
boned  nag;  and  as  he  picked  his  way 
down  the  rocky  road  he  held  his  reins 
with  both  hands,  and  braced  himself  well 
back  in  the  saddle  as  if  to  help  his  steed 
to  hold  himself  up  over  the  broken  places. 
Behind  him  was  slung  a  pair  of  govern- 
ment saddle-bags,  which  showed  that  he 
was  the  ubiquitous  United  States  Mail. 

As  he  came  in  sight,  Sam  first  pricked 
up  his  ears  and  then  uttered  a  musical 
sound,  which,  starting  in  a  deep  bass, 
ended  in  a  treble  so  high  that  it  echoed 
through  the  entire  canyon.  Then  he 
came  to  a  dead  stand  and  waited  the 
coming  of  the  strange  animal,  which  up 
to  this  time  had  taken  no  notice  of  his 
salutation.  When  the  horseman  came 
nearly  abreast  of  where  I  was,  he  greeted 
me  with  the  customary  "How  d'ye?" 
and  was  about  to  pass  on,  but  Sam, 
planting  himself  directly  in  his  way, 
thrust  his  nose  into  the  strange  horse's 
face  and  insisted  upon  a  short  conversa- 
tion. The  larger  beast  then  recognized 
his  diminutive  brother,  and  they  began 
a  somewhat  animated  confab  with  each 
other.  Knowing  that  the  only  course 
was  to  let  Sam  take  his  own  time  and 
way,. I  said  to  the  stranger,  "The  little 
fellow  is  only  half  broken :  he'll  let  you 
pass  in  a  moment." 

"  I'm  in  nothin'  uv  a  tucker,  sir,"  he 
answered.  "I've  the  day  afore  me." 

"You  carry  the  mail?" 

"Yas, — 'tween  Marshall  and  Demo- 
crat and  Sodom." 

"Sodom!  Is  there  a  place  of  that 
name  about  here?" 

"  Yas,  'bout  twenty  mile  back  on  Shel- 
ton  Laurel,  the  wust  hole  on  yerth ;  the 
women  and  the  men  all  live  thar  to- 
gether, sort  uv  'misc'ous,  and  hit  are  all 
a  man's  life  are  wuth  to  go  thar  with  a 
dollar  in  his  pocket." 

"  But  you  go  there  regularly  with  the 
mail  ?" 

"Yas,  but  only  oncet  a  week,  and  they 
don't  bother  me,  fur  they  know  I  allus 
hev  the  shootin'-irons  'bout  me." 

Then,  saying  "Good-day,  sir,"  he 
passed  on,  and — Sam  followed.  I  reined 


him  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  and  in 
the  most  gentle  and  persuasive  tones  be- 
sought him  to  turn  about  and  remember 
his  pledge  to  behave  himself  like  a  gen- 
tleman, but  it  was  all  of  no  avail :  he 
would  not  turn,  and  he  would  not  stop, 
but  persisted  in  going  on  with  his  new 
acquaintance. 

At  length  the  mail-rider  said  to  me, 
"Waal,  he  are  a  contrary  critter.  War 
you  gwine  ter  cross  the  Ivy  ?" 

"Yes ;  I'm  going  on  to  Alexander's." 

"Then  I'd  better  sot  you  "cross  the 
run.  Git  that  atween  the  critters,  and 
you  won't  hev  no  trouble ;  'sides,  you'd 
better  not  trust  the  ole  darky  to  put  you 
over:  the  Ivy  are  a-tearin'  like  mad." 

"  I  should  be  greatly  obliged  if  you 
would  do  so,  and  I  will  pay  you  liber- 
ally." 

"  Never  mind  the  pay,  sir :  ye're  a 
stranger;  that's  enough." 

We  turned  back,  and  were  soon  at 
the  crossing.  The  run,  now  swollen 
greatly  beyond  its  banks,  was  fully  two 
hundred  feet  wide,  and  running  furious- 
ly. Moored  to  the  bank  by  a  chain  was 
an  old  "dug-out,"  about  thirty  feet  long 
and  thirty  inches  wide,  and  half  full  of 
water.  The  mail-rider  had  hitched  his 
nag  to  the  limb  of  a  tree,  and  was  un- 
fastening the  "dug-out,"  when  the  old 
darky  came  from  a  low  cabin  near  by, 
preceded  by  an  ugly-looking  cur,  yelp- 
ing furiously.  "An"  what  am  you  gwine 
to  do,  Mas'r  John  ?"  he  said.  "You  can't 
mean  to  cross  de  run  wid  dis  curren'  a- 
runnin'  ?" 

"Thet's  what  we're  a-gwine  ter  do,  ole 
man:  so  bring  yer  settin'-pole,  quick; 
and  bring  two,  'case  one  mout  break, 
and  I  don't  keer  to  git  inter  the  French 
Broad,  a-tearin'  as  hit  are  now." 

"  Lord-a-massy,  Mas'r  John,  ef  eber  I 
know'd  a  crazy  one,  you  am." 

"Shot  up,  ole  man,  and  bring  the 
poles." 

While  the  old  negro  was  away,  the 
mail-rider  baled  out  the  canoe  with  his 
umbrella  of  a  hat,  and  he  now  explained 
to  me  the  way  in  which  he  proposed  to 
cross  the  Ivy.  It  was  simply  to  start 
from  some  distance  up  the  run,  he  pro- 
pelling the  canoe  across  the  current  as 


ON   THE   FRENCH  BROAD. 


well   as  he 
could  by 
means  of  the  setting- 
pole,  while  I  held  the 
bridle  of  Sam,  who 

FRENCH  BROAD  RIV-     was     CXpCCted    tO 

ER  ABOVE  WARM    swim  alongside. 
SPRINGS.  The  only  danger 

was  of  the  downward  rush  of  the  water 
being  too  strong  for  our  cross-movement 
and  sweeping  us  into  the  French  Broad 
before  we  could  reach  the  opposite  bank. 
In  that  case  our  situation  would  be  hope- 


less, for  nothing  could  float  in 
those  furious  rapids.  But  if  I 
was  willing  to  hazard  the  pas- 
sage he  was.  Reflecting  that  the 
mail-rider's  life  was  worth  to  him 
as  much  as  mine  was  to  me,  and 
that  he  knew  the  stream  thor- 
oughly, I  said,  "  Go  ahead." 

We  went  fully  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  up  the  run,  he  dragging  the  canoe 
and  I  leading  Sam,  who  followed  me 
over  the  rocks  and  fallen  trees  that  lined 
the  bank  with  all  the  docility  of  a  kitten. 
He  made  some  slight  objection  to  enter- 
ing the  water,  but,  when  once  in  it,  took 
to  swimming  as  naturally  as  if  he  had 
been  a  spaniel.  When  all  was  ready, 
the  mail-rider  gave  a  strong  push  to  the 
canoe,  and  then,  springing  into  it  and 
seizing  the  pole,  he  put  forth  all  his 
energies.  We  got  on  reasonably  well, 
making  perceptible  headway  toward  the 
opposite  shore',  till  we  neared  the  middle 
of  the  stream,  but  then  the  current  struck 


26 


ON  THE  FRENCH  BROAD. 


us  with  resistless  force  and  bore  us  down- 
ward with  a  rush  that  was  terrific. 

"  Drop  the  colt !  tuck  ter  the  pole,  or 
we're  goners  !"  shouted  the  mail-rider. 

I  did  as  he  bade  me,  handling  the 
pole  precisely  as  he  did,  and  putting  all 
my  strength  into  the  work ;  but  our 
united  efforts  had  no  perceptible  effect 
on  the  downward  progress  of  the  dug- 
out. The  mail-rider  was  in  the  stern,  I 
forward  ;  and  now  he  said  to  me,  "Plant 
yer  pole  firm  ag'in'  the  bottom  uv  the 
run,  and  squat  in  the  middle  uv  the  dug- 
out. Hold  for  dear  life,  and  I'll  git  her 
forrard." 

And  he  did.  The  two  feet  of  gunwale 
kept  me  from  being  swept  overboard ; 
and,  while  I  could  not  hold  the  canoe 
steady,  I  checked  its  downward  rush  and 
enabled  him  to  push  it  diagonally  across 
the  current.  Not  until  we  were  well  over 
the  swiftest  part  of  the  stream  did  I  give 
much  heed  to  the  colt.  Then  I  noticed 
that  he  was  close  under  the  lee  of  the 
canoe  and  handling  his  slim  legs  as  if 
he  were  beating  a  tattoo  upon  a  kettle- 
drum. He  landed  when  we  did  ;  and 
when  he  had  shaken  some  of  the  water 
from  his  hairy  coat,  he  sidled  up  to  me 
with  a  look  in  his  eye  that  plainly  said 
he  was  right  glad  to  have  done  with  the 
Ivy. 

All  this  while  the  old  darky  had  been 
watching  us  from  the  opposite  bank,  and 
now  he  shouted  across  the  stream,  "  Bress 
de  Lord,  Mas'r  John,  you'm  safe  !  Bress 
de  Lord  !  I  feared  you  both  was  a-gwine, 
shore." 

"We're  all  right,  ole  man,"  answered 
the  mail-rider.  "You  luck  out  for  the 
mail-bags.  I'll  gwo  up  the  run  to  git 
across." 

Both  the  mail-rider  and  I  had  been 
too  much  engrossed  in  crossing  the 
stream  to  give  attention  to  what  was  pass- 
ing around  us,  or  we  should  have  noticed 
that  an  engine  and  several  flat-cars  had 
come  in  and  halted  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  French  Broad,  where  a  wooden 
trestle  spans  the  river  in  a  diagonal  curve, 
striking  the  bank  we  were  on  a  few  rods 
below  the  mouth  of  the  Ivy.  The  tres- 
tle was  about  thirty  feet  above  the  present 
level  of  the  water,  and  was  supported  by 


stout  timbers  placed  some  thirty  feet 
apart  and  secured  more  or  less  firmly  in 
the  bed  of  the  river.  Three  or  four  of 
these  supporting  timbers  in  the  middle 
of  the  trestle  and  directly  over  the  most 
furious  part  of  the  rapids  had  been 
wrenched  from  their  moorings  and  swept 
away  by  the  violence  of  the  freshet,  and 
the  rails,  stringers,  and  cross-ties,  for  a 
distance  of  a  hundred  feet  or  more,  now 
hung  suspended  in  the  air  thirty  feet 
above  the  torrent,  held  together  by  noth- 
ing but  the  iron  couplings  which  fastened 
the  rails  to  each  other.  The  rails  were 
supporting  the  cross-ties  and  stringers, 
instead  of  being  supported  by  them,  as 
would  be  the  case  on  solid  ground.  In 
wrenching  away  the  supports  the  current 
had  thrown  one  rail  considerably  higher 
than  the  other,  and  this  to  the  eye  of  any 
one  but  a  North  Carolina  railway  engi- 
neer would  have  seemed  to  render  im- 
possible the  passage  over  it  of  so  light  a 
thing  as  a  dump-car,  even  if  the  con- 
necting rail-clamps  would  have  supported 
the  weight. 

Loaded  upon  the  flats  were  several 
dump-cars,  and  numerous  bales  of  hay 
and  bags  of  corn  and  bacon,  evidently 
intended  for  the  gangs  of  convicts  I  had 
seen  farther  down  the  river,  and  who 
were  short  of  rations,  as  I  had  learned 
from  convict  Jack.  Though  operating 
in  a  fine  farming-region,  the  railroad  con- 
tractors could  obtain  no  supplies  from 
the  country-people,  who  raised  nothing 
for  man  or  beast  beyond  what  was  need- 
ed for  their  own  wants,  and  those  were 
scanty  enough,  judging  from  the  condi- 
tion of  the  few  horses  and  cattle  I  had 
seen,  which  appeared  to  have  been  fed 
on  barrel-hoops  and  cultivated  solely  for 
their  hides. 

The  presence  of  the  dump-cars  and 
the  bags  of  corn  and  bacon  clearly  indi- 
cated that  the  railway-conductor  intend- 
ed to  attempt  the  sending  over  of  sup- 
plies upon  those  unsteadfast  rails,  held 
'together  thirty  feet  above  sudden  death 
by  only  a  few  brittle  iron  couplings.  I 
spoke  of  this  to  the  mail-rider,  saying, 
"Can  they  mean  to  attempt  the  cross- 
ing?" 

"  I  reckon  they  does,"  he  answered, 


ON  THE   FRENCH  BROAD. 


27 


FRENCH    BROAD    RIVER    BELOW  SMITH'S    BRIDGE, 
NEAR    ASHEVILLE. 


"fur  the  fools  hain't  all  dead  yit.  I'd  a 
durned  sight  ruther  tuck  my  chance 
ag'in  a-crossin'  the  Ivy," 

Soon  I  saw  a  man  dressed  in  blue — 
evidently  the  conductor  or  engineer  of 
the  train — go  out  upon  the  trestle,  step- 
ping firmly  from  one  cross-tie  to  another 
till  he  got  to  the  middle  of  the  river, 
four  or  five  hundred  feet  from  the  shore 
and  directly  above  the  most  furious  part 


of  the  torrent,  which  here  was  rush- 
ing along  over  huge,  half-sunken  rocks 
at  a  speed,  as  it  seemed,  of  not  less 
than  twenty  miles  an  hour. 

At  this  point  about  every  other  cross- 
tie  had  fallen  away,  so  that  the  man  was 
forced  to  take  alternate  steps  upon  the 
ties  and  the  string-pieces ;  and  I  noticed 
that  he  now  with  every  tie  he  stepped 
upon  gave  a  spring,  coming  down  upon 
it  with  his  full  weight,  as  if  he  would  test 
the  strength  of  its  fastenings.  I  held  my 
breath,  expecting  every  moment  to  see 
him  go  down  into  the  torrent  below  ;  and 
soon  he  did  fall,— a  tie  suddenly  giving 
way  under  him  and  he  going  down,  but 
with  wonderful  presence  of  mind  catch- 
ing upon  the  iron  rail,  and  there  hanging, 
suspended  by  only  his  arms,  over  the 


28 


ON   THE   FRENCH  BROAD. 


foaming  caldron  below.  Thus  he  hung 
for  a  moment,  as  if  to  collect  his  strength, 
and  then  with  a  sudden  spring  threw  one 
leg  over  the  rail  and  drew  himself  up  on 
the  string-piece. 

"  Talk  of  acrobats,"  I  said  to  the  mail- 
rider  ;  "that  fellow  would  take  the  medal 
anywhere." 

"Talk  uv  what?"  he  asked. 

"  Rope-dancers, — circus-men.  I  never 
saw  any  'lofty  tumbling'  equal  to  that." 

"  Waal,  hit  war  raather  lofty  tumblin' ; 
but  thet  feller  are  a  durned  fool  all  the 
same." 

I  repeated  this  remark  to  that  conduc- 
tor when  I  met  him  on  the  following 
night  at  Alexander's,  and  his  reply  was, 
"I  knew  what  I  was  about.  The  men 
had  to  be  provisioned,  and  it  was  neces- 
sary to  take  some  risk ;  but,  if  you  no- 
ticed, I  kept  close  to  the  rail,  and  when- 
ever I  tested  a  tie  I  was  ready  to  spring 
at  the  first  sign  of  its  giving  way." 

Meanwhile,  the  mail-rider  had  hauled 
the  dug-out  high  up  on  the  bank,  chained 
it  to  a  tree,  and  was  now  ready  to  set 
out  on  his  return  over  the  Ivy,  which  he 
said  he  could  cross  farther  up  the  ravine, 
where  the  stream  was  narrow  and  spanned 
by  a  fallen  tree.  He  had  refused  to  ac- 
cept any  recompense  for  the  very  essen- 
tial service  he  had  rendered  me ;  but 
now,  when  I  again  urged  him,  he  said, 
"  Ef  it  wud  make  ye  ary  easier  in  yer 
mind,  mister,  I  wouldn't  refuse  that  quar 
pipe  ye  has  in  yer  breast-pocket." 

It  was  a  "corn-cob"  of  some  patent 
description,  and  its  cost  had  been  pre- 
cisely a  dime.  Labor  is  cheap  in  this 
mountain-country,  and  the  working-class 
has  never  been  known  to  strike  for  higher 
wages. 

As  the  mail-rider  was  about  to  take  his 
departure,  two  new-comers  appeared  on 
the  scene.  They  were  a  man  and  a 
woman  coming  down  the  road,  and,  as 
they  were  fair  representatives  of  the  coun- 
try-people of  this  region,  they  are  entitled 
to  a  few  lines  of  description.  He  was  tall 
and  gaunt,  and  clad  in  ragged  home-spun, 
with  a  full  meal-sack  slung  over  one 
shoulder  and  a  short  stick  supporting  a 
bundle  over  the  other.  He  walked  with 
a  shuffling,  unsteady  gait,  as  if  fatigued 


'  with  a  long  journey  and  unable  to  keep 
up  with  his  more  energetic  companion. 
The  woman  was  about  as  tall  as  the  man, 
and  equally  gaunt,  but  she  came  on  with 
a  firm,  quick  stride,  her  limbs  going  at 
every  step  to  the  extreme  verge  of  a 
scanty  cotton  skirt  that  fell  a  little  short 
of  her  ankles.  This  garment  was  of  the 
precise  color  of  the  road  she  travelled, 
and  of  a  piece  with  the  limp  sun-bonnet 
she  wore  upon  her  head.  Her  feet  were 
encase'd  in  a  pair  of  stout  brogans,  which, 
with  her  naked  ankles,  were  so  thickly 
encrusted  with  mud  that  nothing  short 
of  a  small  deluge  would  restore  them  to 
their  original  condition.  She  carried  a 
sack  under  her  arm,  while  from  a  cord 
wound  about  her  neck  was  suspended  in 
front  of  her  and  striking  her  knees  at 
every  step  a  battered  coffee-pot.  At  her 
back,  dangling  from  the  other  end  of  the 
cord,  was  the  frying-pan  in  universal  use 
among  the  "natives."  Evidently  they 
were  on  a  journey, — lodging  in  hay-ricks 
or  the  open  air,  and  with  those  rude 
utensils  preparing  their  meals  by  the 
wayside. 

The  woman  walked  a  few  paces  in  ad- 
vance of  the  man,  and  as  she  came 
nearer  I  noticed  that  she  had  well-formed 
features,  a  wealth  of  light-brown  hair, 
and  eyes  dark,  soft,  and  kindly,  but  with 
a  latent  fire  that  showed  she  might  ex- 
plode on  occasion.  Still,  about  her  mo- 
bile lips  played  a  smile  which  betokened 
a  genial  nature,  capable  of  enjoying  a 
joke  or  a  hearty  laugh  on  any  reason- 
able provocation.  She  was  about  thirty 
years  old,  the  man  nearer  forty,  and  they 
were  evidently  married,  or  at  least  mated 
after  the  fashion  of  their  class  in  this 
mountain-country. 

I  was  speculating  upon  the  figure  the 
woman  would  make  in  a  fashionable 
drawing-room  and  whether  a  few  months 
among  refined  surroundings  might  not 
transform  her  into  some  nearer  sem- 
blance to  a  civilized  being,  when,  tossing 
her  bonnet  back  from  her  face  and  re- 
moving from  her  mouth  the  small  stick 
in  use  among  snuff-dippers,  she  said  to 
me,  "  Kin  ye  tell  me  how  we  kin  git  over 
the  Ivy  ?" 

"Yes,  madam  ;  follow  my  friend  here. 


ON   THE   FRENCH  BROAD. 


29 


He  knows  a  path  that  will  take  you 
across  about  a  mile  up  the  mountain." 

"Thank  ye,"  she  answered,  seating 
herself  upon  a  stone  by  the  roadside. 
"I'se  tired:  we'se  come  plumb  from 
Asheville." 

"What!  this  morning ?" 

"  Yaas  ;  took  a  early  start.  But  we'se 
come  a  bit  furder'n  thet, — from  back  ter 
Roothurford,  nigh  a  hundred  mile." 

"And  walked  all  the  way,  with  the 
mud  up  to  your  knees  ?" 

"Yaas;  bufwe  doan't  mind  thet:  we 
hain't  none  of  yer  in-door  chickens. 
We're  gwine  furder  yit, — ter  see  our 
folks  over  ter  Tennessee." 

"Well,  you'll  have  a  hard  time  getting 
there ;  the  roads  are  in  very  bad  condi- 
tion." 

"  Oh,  we  doan't  keer  fur  the  roads : 
hit's  only  the  runs.  We  karn't  swim 
'em  a-tearin'  like  this  are." 

"Why,  can  you  swim  ?" 


I,  '« 


A   BUNCOMBE-COUNTY   TOBACCO   FARM. 

"  In  coorse  I  kin ;  ary  bench-legged 
fyse  [short-legged  cur]  kin  do  thet." 

"  Well,  you'll  do  to  travel  in  this  coun- 
try Were  you  born  here  ?" 

"  Yaas ;  up  ter  Roothurford ;  but  we'se 
folks  over  ter  Tennessee." 


ON   THE  FRENCH  BROAD. 


"And  how  is  the  road  between  here 
and  Alexander's  ?" 

"  Tol'able ;  but  ye  karn't  git  over  hit 
wuth  thet  critter.  Thar's  a  piece  'bout 
two  miles  up — whar  the  drift  has  washed 
in — thet  wud  spile  the  legs  uv  ary  four- 
futted  critter,  shore." 

In  the  intervals  of  these  remarks  she 
had  replaced  the  snuff-stick  in  her  mouth, 
every  now  and  then  expectorating  as  if 
firing  at  a  target.  The  energy  and  di- 
rectness of  this  operation  excited  my 
astonishment.  If  any  one  desires  to  be 
cured  of  the  tobacco-habit,  he  has  only 
to  witness  the  way  the  women  use  the 
weed  in  this  region. 

The  mail-rider  now  remarked  that  it 
was  about  time  for  him  to  be  attending 
to  Uncle  Sam's  business  ;  and  the  woman 
rose,  and,  chirruping  "  Come  on  "  to  the 
man,  who  all  this  while  had  stood  silent 
and  at  a  respectful  distance,  she  followed 
the  mail-rider  up  the  mountain.  The  last 
I  saw  of  her  she  was  climbing  the  steep 
path  with  a  firm,  manly  stride,  while  her 
lazy,  loose-jointed  husband  with  a  slow 
and  faltering  step  was  bringingup  the  rear. 

I  now  mounted  the  colt  and  pursued 
my  way  along  the  river ;  but  it  soon  be- 
came apparent  to  me  that  a  singular 
change  had  come  over  Sam.  He  no 
longer  went  on  by  fits  and  starts,  now 
fast,  now  slow,  and  veering  from  side  to 
side  of  the  road  as  a  wayward  fancy 
took  him,  but  straight  ahead,  and  with 
a  steady  jog  that  would  have  done  credit 
to  a  broken-down  stage-horse.  He  had 
either  been  born  again  or  changed  into 
another  pony.  His  late  immersion  in 
the  Ivy  may  have  sobered  his  mind,  or 
the  thought  of  home  have  come  to  him 
to  spur  his  progress.  At  any  rate,  he  re- 
fused all  conversation  with  me,  and  jog- 
ged along  steady  as  a  church-clock  and 
demure  as  any  deacon. 

I  was  revolving  in  my  mind  how  to  get 
him  over  the  drift-wood,  when,  at  a  sharp 
curve  in  the  road,  we  came  suddenly 
upon  it.  It  was  a  serious  obstruction. 
The  river  here  made  an  abrupt  bend, 
and  the  flood  had  piled  up  in  the  road- 
way a  tangled  mass  of  estray  logs,  Up- 
rooted trees,  and  branchy  undergrowth, 
to  a  height  of  full  ten  feet,  and  all  so 


densely  packed  that  I  could  detect  no 
opening  through  which  I  could  safely 
get  the  pony.  Leading  him  along  the 
margin  of  the  river  was  impossible,  for 
the  water  was  too  deep  to  ford,  and  the 
current  was  so  swift  it  would  have  swept 
him  away  in  a  moment.  It  looked  as  if 
the  woman  was  right :  that  tangled  mass 
of  debris  would  certainly  "spile  the  legs 
uv  ary  four-futted  critter."  But  I  dis- 
mounted and  climbed  upon  the  drift- 
wood to  reconnoitre. 

Lying  diagonally  across  the  road  was 
a  huge  poplar,  at  least  eighty  feet  long 
and  at  the  butt  five  feet  in  diameter. 
About  thirty  feet  of  the  lower  part  of  its 
trunk  had  been  hollowed  out  with  an 
axe  for  the  evident  purpose  of  making 
a  "dug-out."  If  I  could  get  Sam  upon 
that  tree  there  would  be  no  difficulty  in 
leading  him  across,  for  he  was  in  the 
mood  of  mind  that  would  render  it  pos- 
sible. All  that  was  needed  was  a  few 
planks  to  form  a  bridge  by  which  to  get 
him  upon  the  poplar ;  and  there  they 
were,  right  under  my  feet,  drifted  down 
from  some  up-country  saw-mill.  I  lost 
no  time  in  placing  the  planks  against  the 
fallen  tree,  and  then  Sam  crossed  upon 
it,  thus  justifying  what  had  been  told  me 
of  the  tight-rope  performances  of  the 
Buncombe  County  pony. 

I  was  now  in  the  midst  of  surprisingly 
grand  and  beautiful  scenery.  The  nar- 
row road — in  many  places  blasted  from 
the  rocks  along  the  water's  edge — fol- 
lowed the  windings  of  the  river,  and 
where  it  made  some  wide  sweep  we 
came  often  upon  a  scene  absolutely  be- 
yond description,  the  broad  river  now 
foaming  around  huge  rocks,  now  whirl- 
ing in  some  boiling  pool,  now  tumbling 
in  white  cascades  over  a  sunken  ledge, 
and  now  again  flowing  on,  wide  and  deep 
and  placid,  as  if  it  had  never  known  an 
angry  mood  in  its  whole  career.  And 
over  it  nil  were  the  high,  enclosing  moun- 
tains, their  wooded  slopes  and  bare  gran- 
ite cliffs  towering  up  hundreds  of  feet  and 
often  toppling  over  the  very  roadway. 

The  day  was  clear,  the  weather  had 
moderated  greatly,  and  Sam  and  I  jogged 
lazily  on,  enjoying  the  sunshine,  with  no 
incident  worthy  of  note,  until  we  came 


ON   THE   FRENCH  BROAD. 


to  the  house  of  his  owner.  The  kind- 
ly gentleman  was  willing  I  should  ride 
his  colt  on  to  Alexander's,  but  I  soon 
found  I  must  also  get  the  consent  of  his 
coltship.  However,  this  I  did  with  the 
bribe  of  a  few  ears  of  corn,  with  which  I 
lured  him  up  the  highway  till  I  got  him 
to  a  safe  distance.  Then  I  mounted  him 
again,  and  had  no  further  trouble  with 
the  wayward  fellow. 

For  several  miles  the  mountains  had 
been  running  down  into  hills,  and  we 
now  came  into  a  broken  country,  where 
every  slope  with  a  southern  exposure  was 
cultivated  in  tobacco.  But 
I  saw  but  one  dwelling,  and 
that  was  in  a  broad  field, 
from  every  acre  of  which  I 
was  told  its  owner  cleared 
a  yearly  profit  of  a  hundred 
dollars  ;  and  yet  his  house,  *':> 

about  twelve  feet  square, 
would  have  been  thought 
by  any  Northern  farmer 
unfit  for  the  stabling  of  his 
cattle.  These  people  have 
no  conception  of  order,  or 
neatness,  or  comfort. 
Looking  at  the  way  in 
which  they  live,  one  is  not 
surprised  at  the  reckless 
disregard  of  life,  or  at  a 
loss  for  the  answer  they 
would  give  to  Mallock's 
question,  "Is  life  worth 
living  ?' ' 

A  little  farther  on  I  came 
upon  another  shanty,  also 
about  twelve  feet  square,  and  with  no 
visible  opening  except  a  door-way,  and 
near  it  was  a  barber's  shop.  This  last 
was  roofed  with  the  sky  and  had  neither 
doors  nor  windows.  I  could  see  the 
whole  interior,  but  discovered  nothing 
in  the  way  of  furniture  except  an  op- 
erating-chair, and  that  was  a  hen- 
coop. Seated  upon  this  was  a  ragged 
"native,"  the  very  picture  of  forlornness, 
and  kneeling  on  the  ground  beside  him, 
in  his  shirt-sleeves,  was  another  "  native," 
— the  artist  in  hair, — who  had  trimmed 
the  other's  locks  in  a  horizontal  "bang," 
and  was  in  the  act  of  combing  them 
straight  down  in  the  latest  mountain- 


fashion.  "What  is  the  price  for  trim- 
ming hair  in  this  shop  ?"  I  asked  the 
artist,  as  I  rode  by. 

"A  dime,"  answered  the  artist,  without 
looking  up  or  altering  his  position.  "An" 
we  ax  fools  only  half  price.  Will  you 
hev  yours  done  ?" 

Without  further  incident  we  reached 
Alexander's,  and  then  Sam  and  I  part- 
ed, never,  I  fear,  to  meet  again.  Of  his 
subsequent  career  I  know  nothing ;  but 
I  feel  assured  that,  if  a  proper  account  is 
kept  of  the  deeds  of  ponies,  his  service 
to  me  on  that  day  will  be  placed  to  hi? 


Orx 

v^o-i  *»       *i 

A  WAYSIDE  BARBER'S  SHOP. 

credit  and  be  allowed  to  balance  no  small 
array  of  misdoings. 

Alexander's  has  been  a  summer  resort 
for  more  than  fifty  years,  and  it  was  a 
comfortable  place  to  arrive  at  after  my 
experience  during  the  preceding  two  days. 
Still,  I  must  go  on,  and  my  first  inquiry 
was  for  a  conveyance  to  Asheville.  None 
could  be  had, — neither  horse  nor  mule, 
— and  I  was  forced  to  wait  the  return  of 
the  construction-train,  which  I  was  told 
would  come  back  from  the  Ivy  and  go 
up  the  road  on  the  morrow.  To  while 
away  the  intervening  time  I  made  ac- 
quaintance with  my  fellow-guests  at  the 
comfortable  hostelry. 


ON   THE  FRENCH  BROAD. 


One  was  a  cultivated  gentleman  from 
South  Carolina,  who  had  served  in  the 
Confederate  army  and  still  carried  a  Fed- 
eral bullet  in  his  body ;  and  another — 
not  so  cultivated,  but  more  of  a  "charac- 
ter " — had  also  served  in  the  Confederate 
ranks,  and,  according  to  his  own  account, 
had  been  engaged  in  nearly  all  the  im- 
portant battles  of  the  war.  He  was  a 
broad-shouldered  fellow,  who,  starting  in 
life  when  he  was  twelve  years  of  age, 
had  worked  thirteen  years  in  a  saw-mill, 
fought  eighteen  years  in  the  Southern 
army,  and  was  now  serving  on  his  elev- 
enth year  as  an  engineer  for  the  Western 
North  Carolina  Railroad.  And  still,  by 
his  own  admission,  he  was  only  thirty- 
five  years  of  age  !  He  had  an  open,  hon- 
est face,  a  frank  though  somewhat  swash- 
buckler manner,  and  a  talent  at  compos- 
ing history  which,  should  he  but  dip  his 
thoughts  in  ink  and  be  able  to  obtain  a 
publisher,  would  secure  to  him  fame  and 
perhaps  immortality.  I  did  not  learn  his 
nationality.  On  different  occasions  and 
in  various  localities  he  had,  I  was  told, 
claimed  to  be  of  both  Northern  and 
Southern  birth  ;  but  his  birthplace  was 
in  reality  unknown,  and,  like  that  of 
Homer,  is  likely  to  go  down  to  the  future 
one  of  the  unsolved  problems  of  history. 

As  we  gathered,  after  supper,  around 
the  great  roaring  wood  fire  in  the  sitting- 
room  of  the  hotel,  I  said  to  these  gentle- 
men, "  I  am  a  stranger  here  :  be  good 
enough  to  tell  me  something  about  the 
people  of  your  section." 

"It  is  not  my  section,  sir,"  answered 
the  South  Carolinian,  "but  I  can  tell  you 
something  about  it.  The  poet  had  this 
region  in  mind  when  he  wrote, — 

Where  every  prospect  pleases, 
And  only  man  is  vile. 

Nature  has  done  her  best  here,  and  man 
has  done  his  worst.  The  country -people 
are  the  meanest  race  of  Yankees  on  the 
earth." 

"Yankees!"  I  said.  "I  supposed  they 
were  confined  to  the  North." 

"  Not  at  all.  A  Yankee  is  a  thing  of 
race,  not  of  latitude.  The  natives  about 
here  are  low,  mean,  narrow,  dishonest, 
and  those  are  the  traits  we  Southerners 
ascribe  to  the  Yankees ;  but  we  have 


found  out  of  late  years  that  we  have  as 
many  of  them  at  home  as  can  be  found 
anywhere.  In  addition,  these  people 
have  neither  morals  nor  religion,  and 
are  addicted  to  vices  not  to  be  named 
among  gentlemen." 

"  How  do  you  account  for  this  ?" 

"They  come  from  wretchedly  poor 
stock.  The  first  settlers  in  these  moun- 
tains were  either  too  lazy  and  too  shift- 
less to  get  a  living  in  a  civilized  com- 
munity, and  so  were  driven  back  from 
the  seaboard,  or  they  were  horsethieves 
and  other  criminals  who  had  fled  from 
justice  and  could  be  safe  only  hiding 
among  these  woods.  Here  the  two 
classes  herded  together,  and  their  pro- 
geny has  partaken  of  the  traits  of  both, 
— laziness  and  rascality.  They  have 
the  shiftlessness  of  the  pauper  and  the 
sharpness  and  cunning  of  the  thief.  This 
railroad  will  improve  them,  for  it  will 
take  their  surplus  produce  to  market  and 
bring  them  in  contact  with  the  outside 
world.  But  the  '  cussedness '  is  in  their 
blood,  and  nothing  except  the  grace  of 
God  can  get  it  out.  What  they  need 
most  are  teachers  and  missionaries ;  and 
they  need  them  more  than  the  blacks, 
for  they  are  far  lower  down." 

"  But  this  certainly  does  not  apply  to 
the  whole  farming  population  ?" 

"To  the  largest  part  in  this  section. 
Of  course  I  speak  only  generally :  there 
are  many  exceptions." 

My  own  impression  was  that  the  gen- 
tleman drew  too  dark  a  picture  of  these 
people ;  but  I  had  then  seen  them  only 
on  the  great  thoroughfares.  I  subse- 
quently met  some  of  them  in  their 
homes,  and  concluded  that  he  had  not 
overstated  their  characteristics. 

The  conversation  soon  turned  upon 
the  events  of  the  war,  and  the  engineer 
gave  some  of  his  wonderful  experiences, 
in  which  he  displayed  remarkable  talent 
at  fictitious  narrative.  His  railway  ex- 
periences partook  of  the  same  general 
character ;  but  one  of  them  will  perhaps 
bear  repetition." 

"I  have,"  he  said,  "come  reasonably 

near  to  sudden  death  on  a  railroad  a 

number  of  times,  but  I   think  I  never 

l  came  any  nearer  than  I  did  one  night 


ON  THE   FRENCH  BROAD. 


33 


going  down  the  Blue  Ridge.  We  were 
crossing  the  Big  Fill,  beyond  Black 
Mountain.  You  see,  the  Fill  is  two 
hundred  and  ten  feet  high,  and  the 
grade  a  hundred  feet  to  the  mile.  The 
night  was  so  dark  you  couldn't  see  your 
hand  before  you,  and  it  had  been  rain- 
ing hard  all  day,  so  the  ground  was  soft 
and  the  rails  slippery.  The  train  had 
got  under  tremendous  headway,  when 
right  about  half-way  down  the  Fill  I  felt 
the  engine  jumping  the  track  and  going 
over.  There  were  eighty  passengers  on 
the  train,  and  I  reckoned  one  life  wasn't 
worth  so  many  as  eighty,  so  I  sprang 
upon  the  tender  and  undid  the  coupling ; 
and  that  saved  the  train,  for  not  one  of 
the  cars  left  the  track,  but  all  went  on 
safe  down  the  mountain.  After  uncoup- 
ling the  tender,  quick  as  lightning  I 
sprang  back  upon  the  engine,  and  over 
we  went,  I  holding  on  for  dear  life." 

"And  the  engine  waited  for  you  to  get 
back  before  it  went  over  ?"  remarked  the 
South  Carolinian. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it :  it  was  going  over  all 
the  time.  It  was  a  forty-ton  fellow,  and 
I  tell  you  it  went  with  a  rush.  I  don't 
think  it  was  more  than  half  a  second  in 
leaving  the  track  and  turning  completely 
over,  landing  on  its  wheels.  And  so  it 
kept  on  going  over  and  over  till  it  had 
made  three  or  four  revolutions,  and  I 
saw  it  wouldn't  bring  up  till  it  got  to  the 
bottom  of  the  Fill, — two  hundred  feet 
and  more  down, — and  I  knew  that 
amount  of  somerset  would  be  the  end 
of  me ;  for,  hold  on  as  well  as  I  could, 
I  was  bound  to  be  knocked  about  mis- 
cellaneously. So  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  take  French  leave  of  that  engine,  and 
I  did.  I  sprang  to  one  side,  and  let  the 
durned  thing  go  down  alone.  Now,  the 
tender  had  been  uncoupled  when  the 
engine  sprung  the  track,  and  it  was  fol- 
lowing it  at  a  gewhittiker  speed  and  in  a 
bee-line  for  the  place  where  I  had  landed. 
When  I  saw  it  was  bound — " 

"  But  I  think  you  said  the  night  was  so 
dark  you  couldn't  see  your  hand  before 
you?" 

"  So  I  did ;  but  I  saw  that  tender ;  and 
so  would  you  see  it,  I  reckon, — a  thing 
about  as  big  as  a  meeting-house  tum- 
3 


bling  down  upon  you, — if  the  night  had 
been  darker  than  the  nethermost  pit. 
But,  as  I  was  saying,  I  saw  the  tender 
coming,  and  I  threw  myself  flat,  face 
downward,  at  full  length  upon  that  fresh 
earth,  soft  as  corn-mush,  for  it  was  just 
wet  with  the  rain  ;  and  the  tender  went 
right  over  me  and  buried  me  in  the  mud 
out  of  sight,  but  didn't  do  me  a  dollar's 
worth  of  damage.  However,  I  was  two 
hours  in  prying  myself  out,  and  when  I 
did  and  climbed  up  to  the  track,  there  was 
enough  North  Carolina  soil  on  my  clothes 
to  fill  a  quarter  section  a  foot  deep.  I 
walked  on  to  Henry  Station, — six  miles, 
over  the  highest  trestles  in  this  country, 
— and  there  was  the  train  standing  at  the 
station.  Not  a  soul  of  them  knew  what  had 
become  of  me  or  the  engine,  but  they  all 
reckoned  we'd  gone  on  to  Marion  to 
spend  Sunday  with  the  wife  and  children." 

"Well,  my  friend,"  said  the  South 
Carolinian,  "how  much  of  that  story  do 
you  expect  us  to  believe  ?" 

"Just  as  much  as  you  like ;  but  here's 
a  bit  of  corroborative  evidence  you'll 
find  it  hard  to  doubt."  Saying  this,  he 
handed  to  us  a  very  fine  gold  watch,  on 
which  was  an  inscription  showing  that  it 
had  been  presented  to  him  by  the  West- 
ern North  Carolina  Railroad  Company 
for  saving  the  lives  of  eighty  passengers 
and  the  train  of  cars  above  mentioned. 

It  was  a  fact :  he  saved  the  train,  and 
risked  his  life  in  doing  it.  But  this  fact 
as  he  related  it — embellished  and  exag- 
gerated in  his  peculiar  fashion — became 
fiction  and  lost  all  credibility.  He  was  a 
typical  character, — a  queer  compound  of 
brag,  exaggeration,  and  downright  lying, 
with  energy,  honesty,  and  true  bravery. 
The  traveller  who  has  his  eyes  about  him 
will  find  many  of  his  class  at  the  South. 

At  eight  o'clock  on  the  following  night 
I  took  the  construction-train  for  Ashe- 
ville.  A  thick  bed  of  earth  had  been 
spread  on  the  floor  of  one  of  the  flat-cars 
and  a  rousing  pine  fire  built  upon  it, 
round  which  the  two  gentlemen  I  have 
mentioned  and  I  seated  ourselves  on  tin 
canisters, — emptied  of  the  "giant  pow- 
der" used  in  blasting  the  track, — and, 
though  the  night  was  cold,  rode  on  to 
our  destination  with  tolerable  comfort. 


CATSKILL  AND  THE  CATSKILL   REGION. 


CATSKILL  VALLEY  AND  CREEK,  FROM  JEFFERSON  HILL. 


AS  we  journey  up  the   Hudson  the 
river  -  scenery,  beginning  with  the 
bold  precipices  of  the  Palisades,  seems 
to  culminate  at  West  Point,  where  the 
spurs  of  three  separate  mountain-ranges 
meet  in  a  group  of  lofty  peaks.    There 
34 


is  Cro'nest,  crowned  with  verdure  to 
its  summit:  behind  it  rises  round,  bare 
Donderbarrak,  and  opposite  is  Brek- 
nock,  while  at  their  bases  winds  through 
the  deep  narrow  gorge  the  serpentine 
channel  which  used  to  be  called  Wind- 


CATSKILL    AND    THE    CATS  KILL    KEG  ION. 


35 


Gate.  Nothing  on  the  continent  can 
compare  with  these  shores,  except  some 
parts  of  the  Saguenay  River. 

After  passing  these  wild  and  romantic 
Highlands  the  more  striking  picturesque 
features  vanish.  The  majestic  Hudson, 
which  below  is  forced  to  writhe  through 
those  rocky  fastnesses  in  swift  and  deep 
currents,  lazily  stretches  its  bulk  from 
shore  to  shore:  the  horizons  recede, 
showing  in  the  west  the  blue  wavy  out- 
lines of  the  Catskills.  It  is  then  that  the 
experienced  traveller  begins  to  look  for 
the  Sleeping  Giant.  When  once  his  huge 
figure  looms  along  the  sky,  while  he  takes 
his  eternal  siesta  clothed  in  the  quivering 
opal  hazes  of  the  summer  noon,  or  rests 
at  sunset  against  the  curtains  of  his  cloud- 
couch  wrought  of  crimson  and  cloth-of- 
gold,  one  may  know  that  Catskill  town 
is  near. 

Formerly,  the  tourist  carried  away 
from  this  delightful  resort  merely  a  rem- 
iniscence of  the  hubbub  of  the  wharves 
and  the  intolerable  glare  of  the  dusty  vil- 
lage streets.  The  mountains  beckoned 
him  on,  and  he  set  out  for  them  at  once, 
regardless  of  the  attractions  of  Catskill 
itself.  Now-a-days,  all  that  is  changed, 
and  everybody  lingers,  or  should  linger, 
for  a  week  or  two  by  the  river-side.  In 
fact,  those  who  love  tranquil  enjoyment 
of  scenery  without  effort  or  fatigue  may 
here  dispense  with  mountain  -  climbing 
altogether.  It  was,  after  all,  the  Tempt- 
er who  led  the  way  up  to  an  exceeding 
high  mountain  and  showed  the  king- 
doms of  the  world  and  the  glory  of 
them. 

Let  us  stay  in  Catskill  for  a  while, 
watching  the  lights  and  shadows  on  the 
lofty  chain,  look  at  the  beautiful  Hudson 
flowing  from  the  dim  blue  distances  of 
some  enchanted  land,  view  the  wooded 
hills  opposite  which  Church  the  artist  has 
crowned  with  his  castellated  towers,  and 
below  the  embowered  slopes  of  Livings- 
ton Manor.  In  this  leisurely  mode  of 
making  acquaintance  with  the  river-  and 
mountain-scenery  we  can  best  appreciate 
its  admirable  beauty  and  picturesqueness, 
and  moreover  study  up  the  history  and 
traditions  of  the  most  interesting  town 
on  the  North  River. 


Nor  is  there  wanting  the  attraction  of 
an  admirably-kept  and  luxurious  hotel  to 
detain  the  traveller.  Prospect  Park  Hotel 
has  without  doubt  the  most  superb  situa- 
tion on  the  river.  From  every  window 
and  door,  and,  above  all,  from  the  great 
piazzas,  open  a  thousand  vistas  of  surpass- 
ing loveliness — river,  wooded  heights,  isl- 
and, lovely  banks  and  distant  villages — 
all  sublimed  by  the  magnificent  setting 
which  the  mountain -line  affords.  The 
grounds  of  the  house  slope  to  the  shore, 
and  are  dotted  charmingly  with  groups 
of  the  native  cedars,  which  grow  spon- 
taneously with  a  perfection  of  form  that 
suggests  the  most  careful  pruning.  The 
walk  along  the  river-bank  is  one  of  the 
most  charming  experiences  Catskill  af- 
fords. The  path  is  slippery  with  pine- 
needles,  so  narrow  that  it  suggests  soli- 
tary rambles  rather  than  a  place  for 
lovers'  loiterings,  and  is  often  interrupt- 
ed by  stiles ;  but  from  the  shadow  of 
the  lofty  pines  and  knotted  oaks  one  has 
glimpses  through  the  greenery  of  an  en- 
chanted prospect  which  might  open  into 
Paradise  itself. 

As  we  have  said,  Catskill  is  well  worth 
starting  with.  The  village  is  divided,  like 
other  notable  places,  into  an  upper  and  a 
lower  town.  Or  the  hill  are  no  bustles, 
no  turmoils :  all  about  Prospect  Park 
Hotel  stretch  streets  lined  with  villa- 
like  residences  surrounded  by  pleasant 
grounds  and  great  fruit  -  gardens.  At 
the  foot  of  the  hill,  along  the  shores  of 
the  creek,  go  on  the  activities  of  a  stir- 
ring and  practical  people.  Outside  the 
village  spreads  a  rolling  country,  rising 
in  easy  fertile  slopes  from  the  rich  bot- 
tom-lands. The  soil  is  of  clay,  but  admi- 
rably adapted  to  agricultural  purposes: 
all  the  fruits  and  vegetables  suited  to  the 
climate  are  raised  in  the  utmost  perfec- 
tion in  Catskill.  To  relieve  this  charm- 
ing landscape  of  its  mere  prettiness  and 
over-luxuriance  the  mountains  tower  be- 
hind, wrapped  in  their  vapory  veils. 

An  enthusiastic  Catskillite  might  well 
challenge  the  world  to  surpass  the  beau- 
ties of  the  landscape  opened  before  the 
gazer  near  the  junction  of  the  Jefferson 
and  Snake  roads.  "Grant's"  Hotel  is 
located  at  this  point,  and,  although  re- 


CATSKILL  AND    THE    CATSKILL   REGION. 


moved  from  the  Hudson,  is  admirably 
situated  for  a  summer  resort,  command- 
ing the  superb  view  we  have  noticed,  with 
the  Catskilland  Kaaterskill  Creeks,  beau- 
tiful centres  of  a  rich  and  characteristic 
country  well  worth  making  acquaintance 
with.  These  two  creeks  will  have  indeed, 
before  we  are  through  with  the  Catskill 
region,  far  more  than  this  cursory  men- 
tion. The  very  name  of  the  Kaaterskill 
brings  up  associations  of  the  wildest  ra- 
vines in  the  deep  mountain-gorges,  with 
their  cascades  and  waterfalls.  The  two 


streams  unite  just  before  they  merge  into 
the  Hudson  near  a  hill  called,  to  the  con- 
fusion of  philologists,  Hop-o'-Nose. 

All  the  early  settlements  in  Catskill 
were  made  along  the  banks  of  these 
creeks.  The  Dutch  were  always  famous 
for  settling  in  easy  and  pleasant  quarters, 
and  when  their  fur-traders  brought  news 
of  the  rich  lands  full  of  woods  and  streams 
that  lay  waiting  for  possessors  at  the  base 
of  the  great  mountains,  they  began  to  sail 
up  the  river  in  search  of  them.  It  was 
they  who  first  purchased  of  the  Indians 


THE  "SLEEPING  GIANT,"    FROM   THE  MOUTH   OK   CATSKILL  CRKKK. 


the  river-bottoms  in  Catskill  and  there- 
abouts. Although  we  picture  the  North 
American  savages  as  a  stern  and  warlike 
race,  the  fact  is  nevertheless  well  known 
that  they  never  by  any  chance  made  their 
settlements  among  the  mountain  -  fast- 
nesses, but,  like  other  simple  agricultu- 
ral people,  chose  the  fertile  lands  which 
lay  along  the  banks  of  small  streams. 
The  tribe  which  the  Dutch  found  in 
possession  were  the  Esopus  Indians. 

Catskill  may  be  said  to  have  been  dis- 
covered by  Hendrick  Hudson  in  1609. 
He  anchored  near  the  present  boat- 
landing  and  made  acquaintance  with 
the  savages,  who  were  described  by  the 
chronicler  as  "very  loving  people  and 
very  old  men."  They  wanted  him  to  re- 


main with  them,  and  on  his  refusal,  fan- 
cying that  his  disinclination  arose  from 
some  dread  of  their  weapons,  the  chiefs 
took  their  arrows,  broke  them  and  put 
them  into  the  fire.  Nevertheless,  he  per- 
sisted in  going  away,  and  left  the  Indians 
"  very  sorrowful."  He  and  his  men  seem 
to  have  selected  Catskill,  however,  as  the 
scene  of  their  long  revels  at  nine-pins 
after  they  quitted  the  scenes  of  their 
old  exploits  in  navigation. 

It  was  more  than  seventy  years  after 
Hudson's  voyage  up  the  Hudson  that 
a  Dutchman  by  the  name  of  Bogaeit 
bought  the  lowlands  of  Catskill  from 
the  Indians  for  a  quantity  of  rum,  a 
gun,  two  shirts,  a  kettle  and  a  keg  of 
beer.  This  purchase  was  followed  by 


CATSKILL    AND    THE    CATSKILL    REGION. 


37 


others,  until  the  red  man  no  longer  had 
a  fertile  place  to  plant  his  corn,  and  the 
tribe  moved  away  and  joined  the  Mo- 
hawks. There  is  a  pretty  tradition  that 
a  band  of  them  used  to  return  every 
summer  and  encamp  on  a  part  of  the 
Salisbury  farm,  near  Potick  Mountain 
in  Leeds,  and  mournfully  look  at  their 
forests  vanishing  under  the  settler's  axe 
and  their  fishing -places  spoiled  by  his 
saw-mills.  Near  the  mouth  of  Catskill 
Creek  is  one  of  the  old  Indian  burying- 
grounds,  where  curious  relics  have  been 
unearthed. 

The  whole  Catskill  region  belonged  or- 
iginally to  a  few  large  proprietors,  who 
bought  the  lands  for  the  merest  trifle, 
then  obtained  patents  for  them  from  the 
king  or  the  company,  and  so  enjoyed  a 
legal  right  to  them.  These  grants  or  pat- 
ents covered  from  eight  hundred  to  thou- 
sands of  acres :  that  of  Sylvester  Salis- 
bury, for  instance,  embraced  four  square 
miles.  Other  considerable  patents  were 
Lindesay's,  Leverage's,  Beekman's,  Van 
Vechten's,  Greene's,  etc.  With  a  landed 
aristocracy  like  this  it  is  easy  to  preserve 
traditions,  and  Catskill  is  accordingly 
rich  in  genealogical  interest,  and  many 
of  the  old  families  still  reside  on  their 
ancestors'  estates.  It  is  asserted  by  those 
who  have  studied  the  matter  that  in  no 
section  of  this  country  has  there  been  so 
little  change  of  residents  as  in  Catskill. 
Some  of  the  old  Dutch  houses  which  be- 
longed to  the  original  proprietors  are  still 
standing :  one  of  the  oldest  is  the  Van 
Deusen  house  in  Leeds  (a  part  of  Cats- 
kill),  which  bears  the  date  of  1705.  The 
oldest  house  in  Catskill  village  is  now  call- 
ed the  "  Stone  Jug,"  but  originally  went 
by  the  name  of  "Dies's  Folly,"  from  its 
surpassing  all  other  houses  of  the  period 
in  splendor  and  costliness.  John  Dies  was 
a  major  in  the  British  army,  but  on  mar- 
rying Miss  Jane  Goelet  of  New  York  he 
retired  to  Catskill  in  1763,  and  there  erect- 
ed this  house.  Its  situation  is  charming, 
with  a  view  down  the  creek.  Mr.  Dies  is 
said  to  have  spent  his  time  skipping  silver 
dollars  across  the  stream.  His  wife  was 
called  Madam  Dies,  and  was  considered 
one  of  the  most  learned  and  remarkable 
women  of  her  time.  Her  portraits  and 


her  letters  have  been  preserved  by  her 
descendants,  and  we  give  one  of  the  lat- 
ter as  an  instance  of  a  great  lady's  style 
of  correspondence  in  the  last  century : 

CATTS  KILL  TOWN,  March  15, 1796. 
DEAR  GATE  : 

I  Received  all  you  Sent,  for  wich  Receive 
my  harty  Thanks.  Your  Brother  tels  me  of 
your  Suffering,  for  wich  am  Sory.  I  have 
you  and  all  your  Sisters  and  Brothers  with 
me  in  my  Approches  at  the  Throne  of  Grace, 
Morning  and  Evening,  that  the  Almighty  out 
of  his  Infinite  Goodness  and  Merci  will  be 
pleased  to  Restore  you  to  your  Health ;  if  it 
is  our  Blessed  Saviour's  will  to  take  you  to 
himself,  to  fit  and  Prepare  you  for  your  next 
Remove  and  Receive  you  into  his  Blessed 
Arms,  Aman. 

You  my  dear  Children  that  are  in  health, 
Seek  the  Lord  while  he  may  be  found,  then 
I  shall  have  my  wish  in  the  Family  that  I 
am  connected  with  and  in  the  Bonds  of  Love 
and  Friendship.  I  feal  for  Richard  on  the 
Water.  I  Pray  that  the  Lord  will  Send  his 
Gardian  Angel  to  Protect  him  and  Send  him 
Safe  to  his  Family  again.  Gate  sent  me  Last 
fall  2  Viols  I  she  said  was  Lavandar.  I  did 
not  smell  the  Lavander;  the  Other  was  for 
Weekness  but  did  not  Say  how  it  was  to  be 
Taken.  Dear  Gate  I  send  you  eggs  as  you 
Desired.  I  gave  3  shillings  a  dozen,  you 
must  Counte  them  and  pay  for  the  2  Viols 
and  let  me  know  how  I  am  to  take  this  Mid- 
cine  for  Weekness. 

Hope  this  may  Meet  you  in  better  Health 
and  Our  Blessed  Jesus  Grant  you  Some 
Longer  time  on  Earth  with  the  Under  Aged 
Children.  Inclosed  you  have  5  Doller  wich, 
with  the  Eggs  for  wich  I  was  Obliged  to 
give  3  Shillings  a  dozen,  Please  to  pay 
Post  for  the  2  Viols  and  send  twelve  shilling 
Kag  Corn,  Hams,  Buiskets :  Mark  it  J.  D. : 
and  the  Remainder  send  in  Sugar  Candy  and 
Candied  Oranges :  my  Gate  joyns  me  in  ten- 
der Regard  for  Self  and  all  the  Family,  and 
after  my  best  wishes  for  your  better  healt, 
believe  me 

Your  sinciar  frind 

JANE  DIES. 

I  forgot  5  Ib.  of  Pepper  Mint  Losingis, 
wich  Please  to  Send  and  Less  of  the  other. 
Please  to  Return  the  Baskit,  you  can  pack 
up  my  things  in  it. 

[Directed]  Miss  Cornelia  Blaare  att  Doct, 
Post's,  New  York. 

Favored  by  Capt.  Van  Loan. 


CATSKILL   AND    THE   CATSKILL    REGION. 


PROSPECT  PARK   HOTEL,   FROM  THE  EAST  BANK  OF  THE  HUDSON,  OPPOSITE  CATSKILL; 
AND  VIEW   OF  SCENERY  TO  THE  NORTH. 


One  of  the  largest  and  most  interest- 
ing of  the  old  Catskill  families  is  that 
of  Dubois,  to  one  of  whom,  the  grand- 
daughter of  Madam  Dies,  the  preceding 
letter  was  addressed.  A  pathetic  story  is 


told  of  the  original  settler  of  this  name, 
Louis  Dubois,  a  French  Huguenot,  who 
came  home  from  a  hunting -expedition 
to  find  that  his  wife  Catherine  and»  her 
three  children  had  been  carried  away  by 


CATSKILL   AND    THE    CATSK1LL    REGION. 


39 


the  Indians  during  his  absence.  These 
outrages  were  but  too  common,  and  could 
not  fail  to  suggest  to  the  frantic  husband 
the  extremity  of  violence  and  atrocity. 
A  friendly  savage  confided  to  him  the 
direction  the  party  had  taken,  and  he 
at  once  set  out  with  a  company  of  his 
neighbors  and  their  dogs  in  search  of 
his  family.  After  a  march  of  twenty- 
six  miles  through  the  unbroken  forest 
along  Rondout  and  Walkill  Creeks,  Du- 
bois  came  upon  an  Indian  scout,  and 
thus  discovered  that  they  were  close 
upon  the  tribe.  But  when  they  reached 
the  camp  the  Indians  fled,  carrying  their 
prisoners  with  them.  Dubois,  in  a  great 
dread,  ran  after,  calling  his  wife's  name 
frantically  and  imploring  her  to  return  ; 
and  she  contrived  to  escape  from  her 
captors,  and  did  return.  Here  comes  the 
point  of  the  story  :  The  Indians  had  de- 
cided to  burn  their  captives  alive,  and 
had  placed  them  on  the  pile  of  fagots, 
to  which  they  were  about  to  set  fire  when 
Mrs.  Dubois,  sitting  on  the  logs  and  feel- 
ing that  the  hour  of  her  death  had  come, 
began  to  sing.  She  sang  of  the  captive 
Jews  who  beside  the  waters  of  Baby- 
lon hung  their  harps  upon  the  willows, 
and,  thinking  of  their  people  far  away, 
wept  over  their  melancholy  fate.  While 
she  sang  her  voice  took  such  cadences 
of  heavenly  sweetness  that  the  savages 
gazed  at  her  with  delighted  awe,  and 
listened,  forgetful  of  their  cruel  purpose. 
When  she  would  have  ceased  they  urged 
her  to  renew  her  song,  and  time  after 
time  she  repeated  her  strains  of  faith  and 
longing  until  hours  had  passed  and  the 
moment  of  her  deliverance  came.  This 
story  seems  to  be  well  authenticated,  and 
has  been  preserved  in  many  histories  of 
our  early  Huguenot  settlers. 

But  among  all  the  Catskill  families  rich 
in  story  and  tradition,  the  Salisburys  are 
pre-eminent.  We  have  already  spoken 
of  the  enormous  grant  of  land  to  Syl- 
vester Salisbury.  This  gentleman  was 
a  direct  descendant  of  Sir  John  Salis- 
bury, whose  father  married  Catherine 
Tudor,  a  kinswoman  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth. Captain  Sylvester  Salisbury  was 
sent  out  from  England  in  1664  in  the 
expedition  against'  the  Dutch.  After  tak- 


ing New  Netherlands  from  them  and  es- 
tablishing British  supremacy  along  the 
river  to  Albany,  Captain  Salisbury  return- 
ed to  England :  then  came  back  in  1676 
with  his  famous  grant  of  land  and  many 
valuable  tokens,  some  of  which  still  re- 
main in  the  family  as  heirlooms. 

Among  other  memorials,  a  portrait, 
which  at  present  hangs  against  the  walls 
of  General  Salisbury's  house,  is  worthy 
of  particular  mention.  It  had  lain  un- 
cared  for  for  generations,  although  its 
history  had  never  been  forgotten.  It 
had  grown  black  with  age  and  dingy 
with  the  accumulated  dust  of  over  three 
hundred  years.  The  picture  was  like  a 
woman's  image  behind  a  veil :  the  vo- 
luptuous outlines  could  be  seen,  but  the 
features  were  lost.  It  was  submitted  to 
a  "restorer,"  Herr  Volmering  by  name, 
and  thoroughly  cleansed,  and  the  en- 
crusted dirt  gave  way  and  yielded  the 
fresh,  living  tints  of  the  original  canvas. 
There  seems  to  be  irrefragable  proof  that 
it  is  the  work  of  Holbein,  and  that  the 
subject  is  Anne  Boleyn.  The  portrait 
possesses  a  rare  force,  and  is  powerful 
in  its  effect  to  draw  the  interest  and  riv- 
et the  thoughts  of  the  observer.  It  is 
life-like  —  no  mere  abstract  of  general 
feminine  loveliness,  but  showing  an  in- 
dividual woman  of  rare  attractions  and 
of  a  queenly  repose  and  strength.  Sev- 
eral minor  details  seem  to  form  a  chain 
of  circumstantial  evidence  that  the  orig- 
inal of  the  portrait  was  the  ill-fated 
mother  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  She  had,  it 
is  chronicled,  a  high  forehead,  which  she 
made  every  effort  to  cover  by  loose  curls ; 
a  mole  somewhat  disfigured  her  right 
breast ;  and  her  left  hand  was  deformed 
by  the  removal  of  a  superfluous  finger. 
All  these  points  are  confirmed  by  the 
portrait :  the  forehead  is  too  high  for  the 
proportions  of  perfect  beauty,  and  is  hid- 
den by  curls  ;  her  right  hand  clasps  her 
breast,  as  if  to  conceal  the  blemish ;  and 
a  vestige  of  the  lost  finger  is  plainly  no- 
ticeable on  the  left  hand.  It  is  related 
that  Queen  Katharine,  when  growing 
jealous  of  her  blooming  maid-of-honor, 
used  to  force  this  deformity  upon  general 
notice  by  keeping  her  always  at  playing 
cards.  The  Salisbury  family  have  also 


CATSKILL   AND    THE    CATS  KILL    REGION. 


in  their  keeping  two 
swords,  marked  1544 
and  1616,  which  be- 
longed to  their  early 
ancestor,  who  brought 
the  painting  from 
England. 

A  later  incident  in 
this  family  history 
has  been  made  the 
groundwork  of  a  ro- 
mance by  Mrs.  Har- 
ris, called  The  Suth- 
erland*. Several  ac- 
counts are  given  of 
this  tragedy,  and  the 
novelist  made  use  of 
the  most  striking. 
The  story  as  it  has 
been  frequently  giv- 
en to  the  world  is  as 
follows :  A  young  wo- 
man bound  to  service 
in  the  f  am  i  1  y  ran 
away:  she  was  pur- 
sued by  her  master, 
overtaken,  captured, 
and  tied  to  the  tail  of 
his  horse,  which,  be- 
coming frighten- 
ed, ran 


DEVIL'S  ASPECT,  CATSKU.L  CKEKK. 


and  dashed  her  to  pieces  among  the  rocks 
and  stones  of  the  mountain -road.  The 
master  was  tried  for  murder,  found  guil- 
ty and  condemned  to  death.  The  influ- 
ence of  his  friends  and  family  was  thrown 
into  the  scale :  it  was  represented  that  the 
girl's  fate  was  not  the  result  of  intention, 
but  of  accident,  and  the  sentence  was  in 


Part 
U  remit- 
J  ted, 
and  the  exe- 
cution ordered  to  be 
delayed  until  the  man 
was  ninety -nine  years 
old.  This  reprieve  was 
of  course  considered  as 
a  virtual  pardon,  but  he 
was  condemned  to  wear, 
as  a  continual  reminder 
to  himself  and  others  of 
his  crime  and  punish- 
ment, a  halter  around 
his  neck.  This  part  of  the  sentence  is 
said  to  have  been  literally  carried  out, 
and  he  was  always  seen  with  a  silk  cord 
knotted  about  his  throat.  The  most  sin- 
gular circumstance  in  the  story  is  that 
he  lived  until  two  or  three  years  past 
the  time  when  the  penalty  of  the  law 
was  to  be  exacted.  The  sentence  was  of 


' 


CATSKILL   AND    THE    CATSKILL    REGION. 


course  a  dead  letter  after  so  many  generations 
had  passed  :  the  old  colonial  courts  had  passed 
away,  and  the  new  republic  had  begun.  After 
seventy-five  years  of  doom  the  old  man  finally 
died  peacefully  in  his  bed. 
As  we  have  seen,  a  large  proportion  of  the 


VIEW  FROM  NORTH  MOUNTAIN,  NEAR 
BEAR'S  DEN. 

early  settlers  of  Catskill  were  Dutch. 
They  seem  to  have  been  a  thrifty,  fru- 
gal, and,  if  not  sober,  respectable  and 
never  riotous  people.  "Some  located 
along  the  creek,"  writes  Mr.  Pinckney, 
a  pleasant  chronicler  of  local  traditions 
and  reminiscences,  "  near  its  confluence 
with  the  Hudson.  Some  followed  up  the 
stream  to  its  junction  with  the  Hans 
Vassen  and  Kaaterskill ;  while  some  ven- 


tured a  little  far- 
ther inland  and 
settled  at  Kaats- 
baan  and  the  Embaught 
and  the  pleasant  Bockhover. 
Here  spring  found  these  early 
settlers  preparing  the  generous  soil  for 
the  grain ;  here  summer  smiled  upon 
their  waving  fields ;  here  autumn  was 
fragrant  with  the  ripened  fruit  of  their 
orchards ;  and  here  winter  listened  to 
their  Christmas  carols,  the  kitchen-songs 
of  their  happy  darkies  and  the  merry 
ringing  of  their  sleigh-bells  as  they  trav- 
elled with  sleek  horses  and  high-backed 
'pungs'  to  interchange  visits  and  the 
compliments  of  the  season  with  distant 
relatives,  acquaintances  or  friends,  all 
included  in  the  comprehensive  title  of 
neighbors.  Here  they  lived  in  the  good 
old  customs  of  their  Low  -  Dutch  pro- 
genitors, keeping  holiday  the  festivals 
of  Paas  and  Pinkster,  and  here  they 
died  and  were  buried  in  the  convivial 
fashion  of  their  fatherland." 


CATSKILL   AND    THE   CATSKILL    REGION. 


The  only  evidence  of  wickedness  re- 
corded against  these  worthy  pioneers  is 
a  complaint  of  blasphemous  swearing 
lodged  with  a  Catskill  magistrate  in 


1650  against  one  Van  Bremen:  the  tes- 
timony goes  to  prove,  however,  that  his 
profanity  amounted  to  no  more  than  the 
declaration  that  "the  devil  might  draw 
the  fodder  in  a  cart :  he  would  not." 

These  early   Dutch  settlers   in  many 
cases  acquired  a  competence   by  their 
traffic  in  furs,  and  their  names  are  now 
synonyms  of  wealth  and  respectability, 
and  in  many  cases  of  the  highest  aris- 
tocracy of  our  republic.     Others  never 
found  an  easy  road  to  fortune,  but  con- 
tinued to  live  more  or  less  thriftily 
on    the    paternal    acres,   and    their 
descendants  have  never  kept  up 
with  the  advancing  age.  When 
the  Dutch  took  Catskill,  as  it  is 
easy  to  infer  from  the  excep- 
tion noted  of  Van  Bremen's 
dereliction,  they  were  in 
general  a  pious  and  God- 
fearing people.    One  of 


their  descendants  of 

to-day   was    invited 

to    subscribe    some 

small    amount    for    a 

lightning  -  rod  to  give 

safety  to   a   church    in 

his   neighborhood.     He 

puffed  solemnly  at  his  pipe,   turning 

the  matter  over  in  his  own  mind,  then 

inquired,  "  Whose  house  is  dat  meetin'- 

house,  anyhow?" 

"  It  is  of  course  the  Lord's  house." 

"An*  vy,  den,  should  I  put  myself  in  de  way  an' 
hinder  if  de  Lord  wants  to  send  de  lightning  to  burn 
down  His  own  house  ?  I  will  give  no  money  for  no 
dunder-pole." 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  last  century  Catskill  open- 
ed a  field  of  Western  emigration  for  enterprising  New 
England  men.  Among  others,  Stephen  Day  of  Wal- 
lingford,  Connecticut,  invested  largely  in  lands, 
which  were  afterward  settled  by  Connecticut  men, 

who,  with  their  usual  industry  and  thrift,  set  about  developing  the  great  natural 
resources  of  the  town  and  country.  Until  within  thirty  years  Green  county  made 
more  leather  than  all  the  rest  of  the  State  together.  The  region  above  the  Kaaters- 
kill  Clove  is  called  Tannersville,  and  the  business  largely  increased  the  population 
and  wealth  of  the  whole  section.  But  with  the  waste  and  over-work  the  hemlock 


CLIFF  ON   SOUTH   MOUNTAIN. 


CATSKILL   AND    THE    CATSKILL    REGION. 


43 


bark  vanished,  and  with  it  the  thriv- 
ing trade. 

Catskill  was  formerly  a  great  wheat- 
market,  with  extensive  flour-mills.  In 
fact,  until  the  opening  of  the  Erie  Canal 
in  1825  the  place  steadily  grew,  and  seem- 
ed with  vigorous  strides  to  be  making 
headway  toward  great  commercial  pros- 
perity. But  when  the  canal  opened  the 
great  and  fertile  West,  and  railroads 
penetrated  still  farther  into  new  regions, 
Oitskill  began  a  little,  if  not  to  decline, 
at  least  to  grow  stationary.  There  was 
once  a  railroad  running  west  from  Cats- 
kill,  which  was  not  attended  by  the  pros- 
perity that  renders  railroads  necessary  to 
a  community,  and  the  vestiges  of  its  track 
are  now  pointed  out  along  the  beautiful 
turns  of  the  creek  above  Austin's  paper- 
mill — a  pathetic  suggestion  of  vanished 
enterprise.  Other  and  new  railroads  open- 
ing Catskill  to  the  West  are  discussed,  but 
whether  such  schemes  are  chimerical  or 
substantial  time  only  can  determine.  Pav- 
ing-stones, brick,  lime  and  cement  are 
among  the  products  and  manufactures 
of  the  section  :  there  are  many  factories, 
woollen,  cloth  and  other  mills,  among 
which  may  be  mentioned  those  of  A.  T. 
Stewart.  Another  prominent  industry  of 
Catskill  is  thegathering  of  the  "  ice-crop." 
Thousands  of  tons  of  ice  are  stored  in 
the  houses  on  Rogers's  Island  (midway 
between  Catskill  and  the  opposite  shore 
of  the  Hudson)  and  along  the  banks 
of  the  creek.  Except  that  these  un- 
sightly buildings  give  evidence  of  local 
thrift  and  prosperity,  one  might  be  tempt- 
ed to  quarrel  with  them  for  spoiling  the 
river-scenery  ;  but  beauty  cannot  always 
be  made  the  bride  of  use,  and  this  ice- 
harvesting  is  the  sole  means  of  support 
of  thousands  of  families  along  the  Hud- 
son in  the  cold  weather.  A  mild  winter, 
welcomed  among  the  poor  elsewhere,  is 
in  this  country  a  time  of  suffering  and 
dearth. 

Catskill  township  originally  embraced 
several  of  the  surrounding  towns,  and  the 
two  pretty  villages  of  Leeds  and  Jefferson 
are  still  incorporated  with  it.  The  for- 
mer, nestling  under  Potick  Mountain, 
contains  a  picturesque  old  stone  bridge 
over  the  creek,  which  commemorates  a 


terrible  freshet  of  some  sixty  years  ago 
that  swept  away  every  landmark  in 
the  vicinity.  The  town  of  Athens  was 
once  a  part  of  Catskill,  and  the  road 
thither  along  the  river  is  one  of  the 
many  pleasant  drives  which  the  place 
proffers  inexhaustibly  in  every  direction. 
A  daring  and  atrocious  murder  occur- 
red near  Athens  in  1813,  which  gave  rise 
to  some  of  the  most  curious  complications 
known  in  our  criminal  courts.  A  young 
and  lovely  girl  was  missing  from  her  fa- 
ther's house,  and  it  was  remembered  by 
several  persons  in  the  vicinity  that  on 
the  evening  of  her  disappearance  they 
had  heard  muffled  shrieks.  The  place 
was  searched,  and  after  two  or  three  days 
the  girl's  body  was  found  bruised  and 
mutilated  under  the  bridge  that  crosses 
the  creek.  She  had  been  last  seen  in 
the  twilight  only  a  few  yards  from  her 
father's  gate.  The  natural  and  only  con- 
clusion was  that  she  had  been  dragged 
away  by  ruffians  and  cruelly  murdered, 
and  then  hidden  under  the  planks  of  the 
bridge,  which  showed  signs  of  having 
been  recently  removed ;  but  no  clew  to 
the  identity  of  the  scoundrels  could  be 
obtained.  Some  time  afterward,  how- 
ever, a  soldier  by  the  name  of  Lent  made 
confession  that  the  murder  was  commit- 
ted by  himself  and  a  comrade,  Sickles. 
He  gave  a  circumstantial  account  of  the 
tragedy  from  beginning  to  end.  Other 
testimony  corroborated  his  story,  but  the 
evidence  was  not  received.  Lent  and 
Sickles  were  serving  in  the  army  at  the 
time,  and  their  officers  were  summoned 
as  witnesses,  and  positively  swore  that 
both  the  men  were  in  barracks  thirty 
miles  away  on  the  evening  of  the  mur- 
der. The  consequence  was  that  Sickles 
was  discharged,  and  Lent,  who  had  turn- 
ed State's  evidence,  was  convicted  of 
perjury  and  compelled  to  serve  a  term 
in  the  State  prison.  Notwithstanding  all 
this,  there  could  be  little  doubt  of  the  fact 
that  Lent  and  Sickles  were  not  in  the 
barracks  at  the  date  of  the  murder,  but 
had  deserted  two  days  before,  and  every 
step  of  their  way  was  traced  to  Catskill, 
where  they  slept  in  a  barn  and  were  seen 
on  the  very  day  of  the  tragedy.  Sickles's 
own  counsel  told  him  that  he  was  a  guil- 


44 


CATSKILL   AND    THE    CATSKILL    REGION. 


ty  man  and  deserved  to  be  hanged,  and 
a  few  years  later  Sickles,  on  his  death- 
bed, made  a  full  confession  of  his  guilt. 
So  much  for  judges  and  juries  in  1813. 

The  Athens  road  was 
also  the  scene  of  another 
noticeable  tragedy  some 
five  years  ago,  when  a 
poor  peddler  stopping  over 
night  at  a  humble  farm- 
house was  murdered  in 
cold  blood  by  the  son  of 
his  host,  a  young  fellow  of 
little  more  than  twenty,  by 
the  name  of  Joseph  Waltz. 
The  murder  was  one  of 
wanton  atrocity:  the  evi- 
dence was  clear,  and  the 
sentence  extreme.  The 
young  man  was,  however, 
made  the  centre  of  much 
tender  sympathy  on  the 
ground  of  a  certain  poetic 
aberration  of  mind  which 
caused  him  to  pretend  to 
see  visions  and  dream 
dreams.  He  wrote  very 
poor  rhymes,  which,  while 
he  was  languishing  in  pris- 
on under  sentence  of  death, 
appealed  to  the  kindliness 
of  his  keeper  and  of  the 
community  generally.  He 
had  his  wits  sufficiently 
about  him,  however,  to  plan 
an  adroit  escape,  which  he 
almost  effected  after  com- 
mitting a  second  murder 
by  killing  his  keeper. 

But  such  grisly  reminis- 
cences should  not  be  al- 
lowed to  sully  the  pure 
mountain-streams  and  the 
clear  luminous  air  of  Cats- 
kill.  Rather  should  be  in- 
spired the  thought  of 

Such  sights  as  youthful  poets 

dream 

On  summer  eves  by  haunted 
stream. 

The  place  possesses  to  the  full  that 
charm  of  scenery  and  fairy-like  witch- 
ery of  picturesque  association  which  open 
the  widest  realm  of  fancy  to  poet  and  to 


painter.  The  name  of  Thomas  Cole  is 
associated  with  Catskill  both  as  artist 
and  author.  Mr.  Cole  was  an  English- 
man who  came  to  this  country  at  nine- 


EAGLE   ROCK, 
SOUTH    MOUNTAIN,   NEAR 
THE  MOUNTAIN  HOUSE, 
CATSKILL. 

teen  years  of  age.  He  en- 
countered many  vicissitudes 
as  a  young  man,  but  afterward  ac- 
quired an  enviable  fame  and  for- 
tune. However  his  works  may  be 
regarded  by  the  critics  of  to-day, 
who  consider  any  visible  idea  or 
distinct  conception  a  base  sub- 
serviency of  art  to  conciliate  the  old  fo- 
gies, there  need  be  no  doubt  of  his  hav- 
ing painted  pictures  which  made  the 
most  powerful  and  worthy  impression 


CATSKILL    AND    THE    CATSKILL    REGION. 


45 


upon  his  day  and  generation.  He  was 
an  ardent  lover  of  Catskill  and  its  moun- 
tains, and  after  frequent  visits  finally 
made  it  his  permanent  place  of  resi- 
dence. His  house  is  now  occupied  by 
his  son,  and  is  admirably  situated,  front- 
ing on  a  superb  view  of  the  Catskill 
range,  while  behind  it  a  forest  of  oaks 
and  pines  extends  to  the  water's  edge. 
At  his  death  he  left  unfinished  a  series 
of  pictures  called  The  Cross  and  the 
World,  similar  in  imaginative  concep- 
tion and  deep  religious  sentiment  to  his 
Voyage  of  Life  and  Course  of  Empire. 
The  unfinished  pictures  remain  as  the 
master -hand  left  them,  and  his  house 
contains  other  works  —  The  Architect's 
Dream,  etc.  etc.* 

The  pleasantest  residences  in  Catskill 
adjoin  the  Cole  place,  with  a  view  of  the 
mountains  on  the  one  hand  and  the  riv- 
er on  the  other.  Among  them  may  be 
mentioned  those  of  Sherwood  Day,  Esq., 
George  McLanahan,  and  a  pretty  me- 
diaeval cottage  fashioned  after  Shake- 
speare's house,  and  called  from  some 
reminiscence  of  the  artist  who  built  it 
"More's  Folly."  Mr.  Thurlow  Weed 
and  Mr.  Edwin  Croswell,  respectively 
editors  of  the  Albany  Evening  Jour- 
nal and  Albany  Argus,  were  natives 
of  Catskill,  and  both  have  contributed 
reminiscences  of  the  place  to  the  local 
papers.  There  seems  to  have  been  a 
club  of  these  loyal  sons  of  Catskill  call- 
ed the  "  Turtle  Club  "  some  thirty  years 
and  more  ago,  which  furnished  occasions 
for  much  genial  speech-making,  and  in 
many  ways  the  spirit  of  the  old  times, 
the  anecdotes  and  entertaining  gossip, 
have  been  kept  alive.  We  quote  one 
story  from  the  printed  memoranda  in 
Sketches  of  Catskill:  "On  a  leaf  torn 
from  the  day-book  of  Mr.  Orrin  Day, 
the  well-known  merchant  and  father  of 
S.  Sherwood  Day,  we  find  the  following 
reference  to  the  uncle  of  Mr.  Thurlow 
Weed  under  date  of  May  18,  1811  : 

"  JOSEPH  WEED  Dr. 

To  I  Blk  coat 40*. 

[If  he  goes  regularly  to  one  of  the  churches 

*  His  studio,  on  the  fine  grounds  which  surround 
his  house,  is  at  present  occupied  by  our  artist,  Mr. 
B.  B.  G.  S'.one. 


every  Sunday  for  one  year,  and  keeps  away 
from  the  grog-shops  on  the  Sabbath,  and  re- 
forms his  moral  conduct,  then  this  is  to  be  a 
present.] 

"  On  the  left  -  hand  margins  are  the 
memorandums : 

"  1st  Sunday  in  June,  absent. 

2d         "  «        «  « 

And  on  the  opposite  margin  the  follow- 
ing: 

"  Mr.  Weed  attended  public  worship  a  few 
Sabbaths,  but  very  soon  broke  off,  and  has 
not  been  seen  in  a  church  for  several  months. 

"  March  27,  1812. 

"  Then  Mr.  Day  despairingly  wrote  in  a 
bold  hand  across  the  entry, '  GAVE  IN.'  " 

Having  explored  the  walks  in  and 
about  Catskill,  rowed  up  the  creek  past 
Devil's  Aspect,  walked  up  the  ravine 
past  the  paper  -  mill  to  the  falls,  and 
pondered  over  the  curious  strata  and 
the  geological  formations  of  the  rocky 
bed  and  walls  of  the  stream,  gossiped 
over  the  old  traditions,  visited  the  stu- 
dios, we  must  set  out  for  the  mountains 
— the  Katzbergs,  as  the  early  Dutch  used 
to  call  them. 

The  Indians'  name  for  these  mountains 
was  "Onti  Ora  "  or  "Clouds  of  the  Sky." 
And  it  is  true  that  lights  and  shadows 
never  played  over  mountains  which  more 
truly  and  tenderly  reflected  every  mood 
of  the  changing  hour  and  of  the  sea- 
sons. It  would  be  difficult  to  say  in 
which  aspect  they  are  most  beautiful — 
in  the  rose -tints  of  dawn,  the  purple- 
gray  of  the  morning  sunlight,  which 
changes  to  amethystine  violet  at  noon, 
then  to  a  vivid  blue  as  the  shadows 
turn  eastward,  or  in  the  splendors  of 
sunset,  when  the  great  fires  flame  up 
to  the  zenith  and  the  unveiled  glories 
of  the  skies  spread  from  horizon  to  ho- 
rizon. Approaching  Catskill  by  rail  to- 
ward evening,  one  may  catch  one  of  the 
most  charming  effects  of  mountain -sce- 
nery. The  sun  races  along  the  peaks  as 
it  were,  now  vanishing  behind  High  Peak, 
gleaming  out  in  intolerable  splendor  to 
hide  under  the  huge  dome  of  Round  Top. 
"  It  has  gone  now,"  one  says,  half  glad 
to  be  able  to  gaze  at  the  blue  chain  un- 


CATSKILL    AND    THE    CATSKILL    REGION. 


blinded,  but  it  emerges  more  radiant  than 
ever,  and  hangs  over  South  Mountain, 
dazzling  with  its  straight  beams  converg- 
ing from  the  brilliant  disk :  then  at  North 
Mountain  it  pauses  an  instant,  gleaming 
with  gem-like  hues  as  it  strikes  the  rocky 


wall ;  then  is  seen  no  more.  When  the 
mountains  look  near  the  weatherwise  pre- 
dict rain  for  the  next  day.  In  storm  and 
mist  their  forms  of  course  vanish,  and 
often  in  summer-time,  when  the  forest 
fires  are  raging  over  the  mountain-woods, 


NORTH   LAKE,    NEAR   MOUNTAIN    HOUSE. 


the  smoke  enfolds  the  whole  chain,  hid- 
ing it  from  view. 

The  Mountain  House  is  eight  miles 
from  Hudson  River  as  the  crow  flies, 
and  twelve  miles  by  road.  In  the  clear 
luminous  air  the  distance  does  not  seem 
so  great.  All  mountain-scenery  is  de- 
ceptive and  the  ranges  loom  too  near. 
A  story  is  told  of  two  Englishmen  used 
to  Alpine  climbings  who  arrived  some- 
where in  Colorado  at  evening,  and  next 
morning,  catching  sight  of  a  splendid 
peak  apparently  only  a  mile  or  two 
away,  they  set  out  to  make  the  ascent 
before  breakfast.  After  walking  an  hour 
or  two,  however,  without  seeming  to  de- 
crease the  distance,  the  first  Englishman 
turned  back,  leaving  his  friend  to  press 
on  undaunted,  while  he  ate  his  breakfast. 


found  a  horse,  and  then  set  out  again. 
After  a  ride  of  many  miles  he  overtook 
his  comrade,  and  found  him  sitting  on 
the  brink  of  a  ditch  a  yard  wide,  re- 
moving his  shoes  and  stockings  and 
rolling  up  his  trousers. 

"What  on  earth  are  you  doing?"  ask- 
ed the  Englishman  on  horseback. 

"  I'm  going  to  ford  that  river,"  said  the 
pedestrian  in  an  inflexible  voice. 

"Ford  that  river?"  said  the  first,  be- 
lieving that  his  friend's  mind  was  totter- 
ing. "It  is  only  a  ditch  :  you  can  jump 
across  it  easily." 

"Don't  tell  me,"  retorted  the  other, 
irate.  "  You  can't  calculate  on  any  dis- 
tance in  this  blasted  country.  For  all 
you  or  I  can  tell,  it  may  be  three  hun- 
dred feet  wide." 


CATSKILL   AND    THE    CATS  KILL    REGION. 


47 


There  are  two  roads  from  Catskill  to 
the  Mountain  House — the  stage-road  and 
the  road  through  the  Clove.  Each  has 
its  characteristic  attractions  which  the 
other  does  not  possess.  We  leave  the 
Kaaterskill  Clove  for  our  second  pa- 
per, and  now  make  the  regular  ascent 
along  the  winding  road  up  the  eastern 
side  of  the  mountain,  which  rises  abrupt- 
ly from  the  plain,  following  the  margin 
of  the  glen  through  which  Rip  Van  Win- 
kle found  his  way  on  that  memorable 
afternoon.  In  the  morning  the  road  is 
in  sunshine,  or  at  least  chequered  by  the 
play  of  sun  and  shadow  through  the 
pine-tassels  and  birch-leaves,  but  after 
noon  it  is  gloomed  over  by  the  lofty 
heights,  which  cast  their  shadows  far 
eastward  toward  the  river.  On  the  right 
as  you  ascend  you  can  see  nothing  save 
the  towering  perpendicular  wall  to  which 
the  verdure  clings,  and  on  the  left  the 
lofty  trees  shut  out  the  view  of  the  val- 
ley below.  This  glen  or  gorge  gradually 
opens  into  a  vast  amphitheatre,  in  the 
centre  of  which  babbles  a  clear  moun- 
tain-spring from  which  every  one  quaffs 
to  the  repose  of  Rip  Van  Winkle,  whose 
kindly  "  Here's  your  good  health,  and 
that  of  your  family :  may  you  live  long 
and  prosper!"  calls  for  answering  good 
wishes.  "  Passing  through  the  ravine,"  so 
goes  the  chronicle,  "they  came  to  a  hol- 
low like  a  small  amphitheatre,  surround- 
ed by  perpendicular  precipices,  over  the 
brinks  of  which  impending  trees  shot 
their  branches,  so  that  you  only  caught 
glimpses  of  the  azure  sky  and  the  bright 
evening  cloud.  .  .  .  On  a  level  spot  in  the 
centre  of  the  amphitheatre  was  a  com- 
pany of  odd-looking  personages  playing 
at  nine-pins.  They  were  dressed  in  a 
quaint,  outlandish  fashion." 

At  the  base  of  the  rocks  is  situated 
"  Rip  Van  Winkle's  Cabin,"  as  it  was 
formerly  called,  and  where  at  one  time 
one  might  obtain  a  glass  of  cheer,  if  not 
as  sparkling  and  bright  as  the  water  from 
the  mountain-spring,  more  apt  to  induce 
some  of  the  drowsiness  to  which  Rip  fell 
a  victim  on  this  very  spot.  But  the  li- 
cense laws  have  changed  all  that,  and 
the  owner  of  the  "Van  Winkle  House" 
now  drives  a  thriving  trade  in  rustic  fur- 


niture gracefully  designed  from  the  gnarl- 
ed and  knotted  roots  of  the  great  trees  in 
the  vicinity.  A  little  way  up  the  sides 
of  the  lofty  ramparts  of  rock  may  be 
seen  the  stone  where  Rip  slept  his  long 
sleep.  It  must  be  confessed  that  a  sor- 
rier place  for  a  twenty  years'  siesta  could 
scarcely  be  chosen.  Besides  being  hard, 
it  is  narrow,  and  slopes  from  the  horizon- 
tal so  far  toward  the  perpendicular  that 
one  wonders  how  the  good  fellow  man- 
aged to  avoid  being  swept  down  by  the 
avalanches  and  land -slides  of  that  dou- 
ble decade. 

The  road  turns  after  passing  this  stop- 
ping-place, and  in  general,  for  the  re- 
mainder of  the  way,  runs  parallel  with 
the  river.  It  is  well  not  to  be  too  curious 
to  gain  glimpses  of  the  magnificent  land- 
scape which  the  dense  greenery  on  the 
left  in  part  veils  and  in  part  discloses.  It 
is  better  to  leave  it  for  the  supreme  reward 
after  the  toils  of  the  ascent,  and  pay  heed 
to  the  nearer  beauties  of  the  scene.  There 
is  no  end  to  the  picturesque  and  charm- 
ing vistas  at  every  turn  of  the  road.  The 
study  of  tree-trunks  alone  is  one  full  of 
beauty — the  straight  and  sturdy  pine,  the 
delicate  feminine  white  birch  —  that  vir- 
gin among  trees  —  the  beautiful  cedars, 
all  mingling  their  leafy  domes  with  the 
billowy  verdure  which  clothes  the  moun- 
tain-sides. Huge  boulders  fantastically 
piled  and  decked  with  emerald  ferns  wav- 
ing like  plumes  ;  rocks  clad  in  moss,  ev- 
ery crack  allowing  a  foothold  for  rugged 
thickets  of  growth,  and  cooling  the  streams 
that  trickle  down  from  the  mountain- 
sides; vast  and  gloomy  chasms,  —  all 
these  may  well  delight  the  eye  and 
quicken  the  throbs  of  the  heart,  for  one 
seems  here  to  be  initiated  into  Nature's 
sweetest  and  most  sacred  secrets. 

But  one  is  always  reaching  forward  to 
the  goal :  accordingly,  when  at  one  turn 
in  the  road  the  Mountain  House  seems 
close  at  hand,  it  is  hard  to  be  told  that 
ridge  after  ridge  and  summit  after  sum- 
mit are  yet  to  be  passed  before  the  heights 
are  actually  gained.  It  seems  a  palpable 
trick  to  deceive  the  traveller,  for  the  Moun- 
tain House  in  all  its  pillared  beauty  is  ap- 
parently only  a  few  rods  distant. 

One  is  rarely  enthusiastic  over  the  last 


CATSKILL    AND    THE    CATSKILL    KEG  ION. 


stage  of  the  journey.  Wtyit  one  meets, 
nevertheless,  on  the  platform  -  rock  in 
front  of  the  Mountain  House  revives  the 
spirits,  and  so  recompenses  the  traveller 
for  all  his  fatigues  that  they  are  forgotten. 
He  feels,  to  begin  with,  the  peculiar  and 


exquisite  sense  of  freedom  which  belongs 
to  the  lofty  heights  :  the  skies  seem  near, 
and  the  very  sensation  of  inhaling  the 
untainted  upper  airs  invigorates  body  and 
soul.  Then  before  him  is  spread  out  the 
most  magnificent  of  panoramas.  Between 


MOUNTAIN  HOUSE, 
SOUTH  MOUN- 
TAIN, FROM 
NORTH  MOUN- 
TAIN. 

the  mighty  circumference  of  the  far -re- 
moved horizons  there  seems  room  for  the 
whole  created  world.  The  best  time  for 
gaining  impressions  of  this  mighty  view 
is  from  four  o'clock  until  sunset  on  sum- 
mer afternoons.  Earlier  in  the  day,  bathed 
in  sunlight,  beautiful  as  it  is  in  its  clear  agrial  depths, 
it  is  still  somewhat  disappointing,  and  resembles  noth- 
ing so  much  as  a  map  sketched  in  faint  greens  and 
browns,  with  the  Hudson  River  folded  like  a  ribbon 
across  it.  The  mountains  rise  so  abruptly  from  the 
plains  that  they  seem  to  overhang  the  farms  below, 
where  one  may  see  farmers  and  their  oxen  the  size  of 
beetles  crawling  over  the  fields.  The  squares  and  triangles  defined  by  the  fences 
resemble  patchwork,  and  the  eye,  seeking  for  sublimity,  returns  unsatisfied  and 
fastens  on  the  summits  of  North  and  South  Mountains  behind. 

But  late  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  shadows  extend  nearly  to  the  river,  and 
the  sun  touches  only  the  topmost  edges  of  the  oceans  of  verdure  on  either  hand. 


CATSKILL   AND    THE    CATSKILL   KEG  ION. 


49 


the  dark  foreground  gives  charm  to  the 
middle  distance,  showing  the  lovely  un- 
dulations of  the  wooded  hills,  and  en- 
hances the  worth  of  the  distant  moun- 
tains— the  Adirondacks,  the  Green,  the 
Berkshire,  etc.  etc.,  which  show  their 
dim  wavy  outlines  in  the  wonderful 
horizons.  It  is  a  life  above  the  earth 
that  one  experiences  then. 

One  has  probably  as  little  difficulty  in 
harmonizing  the  mood  which  seems  im- 
pelled by  "this  ampler  ether,  this  diviner 
air,"  to  actual  mortal  existence  at  the 
Catskill  Mountain  House  as  anywhere 
in  the  wide  world.  It  is  fifty-five  years 
since  the  hotel  was  established,  and,  as 
it  has  enjoyed  continuous  prosperity,  it 
has  easily  avoided  all  those  drawbacks 
to  the  pleasure  of  the  guests  which  usu- 
ally exist  in  such  resorts.  It  is  a  quiet, 
well-managed,  excellent  house,  and  sum- 
mer after  summer  one  may  meet  almost 
the  same  set  of  refined  and  educated  peo- 
ple gathered  there  as  boarders.  The  pro- 
prietor owns  and  controls  not  only  the  ho- 
tel itself,  but  the  long  road  from  the  foot 
of  the  mountain,  admirably  kept,  and 


most  of  the  wooded  land  on  either  hand, 
besides  a  large  amount  of  real  estate  in 
Catskill  itself. 

Catskill  Mountain  House  is  twenty- 
eight  hundred  feet  above  the  sea-level, 
hung  like  an  eagle's  nest  on  the  very 
edge  of  the  precipice.  Behind  it  are  the 
two  beautiful  sheets  of  water  known  as 
North  and  South  Lakes.  Above  and  be- 
low the  hotel  are  North  and  South  Peaks, 
each  rising  upward  of  a  thousand  feet 
above  the  plateau.  The  ascent  is  not 
too  toilsome,  and  the  pictures  framed  in 
pine  and  cedar  and  birch  foliage,  and 
seeming  to  float  in  an  ocean  of  pale 
crystalline  blue,  grow  more  and  more 
beautiful  at  every  point.  From  the  top 
is  gained  a  still  wider  sweep  of  the  great 
view  first  seen  from  the  platform  be- 
fore the  Mountain  House.  From  North 
Mountain  the  hotel  itself,  with  its  lakes, 
lends  beauty  and  interest  to  the  land- 
scape, and  new  ridges  of  forest  and 
new  lines  of  hills  in  the  horizon,  and 
the  Atlantic  Ocean  itself,  are  added  to 
the  limitless  circumference  of  the  vast 
circle. 


I 


N  old  times,  say  the  Indian  tradi- 
tions"—  thus  writes  Mr.  Diedrich 
4 


ENTRANCE  TO  KAATERSKILL  CLOVE. 

Knickerbocker — "there  was  a  kind  of 


Manitou  or  Spirit  who  kept  about  the 


CATSKILL  AND  THE  CATSKILL  REGION. 


wildest  recesses  of  the  Catskill  Moun- 
tains, and  took  a  mischievous  pleasure 
in  wreaking  all  kinds  of  vexations  upon 
the  red  man.  Sometimes  he  would  as- 
sume the  form  of  a  bear,  a  panther  or  a 
deer,  lead  the  bewildered  hunter  a  weary 
chase  through  tangled  forests  and  among 
ragged  rocks,  and  then  spring  off  with  a 
loud  Ho !  ho !  leaving  him  aghast  on  the 
brink  of  a  beetling  precipice  or  raging 
torrent.  The  favorite  abode  of  this  Man- 
itou  is  still  shown.  It  is  a  great  rock  or 
cliff  on  the  loneliest  part  of  the  moun- 
tains, and,  from  the  vines  which  clam- 
ber about  it  and  the  wild  flowers  which 
abound  in  its  neighborhood,  is  known 
by  the  name  of  Garden  Rock.  Near  the 
foot  of  it  is  a  small  lake,  the  haunt  of  the 
solitary  bittern,  with  water-snakes  bask- 
ing in  the  sun  on  the  leaves  of  the  pond- 
lilies  which  lie  on  the  surface.  This  place 
was  held  in  great  awe  by  the  Indians, 
insomuch  that  the  boldest  hunter  would 
not  pursue  his  game  within  its  precincts. 
Once  upon  a  time,  however,  a  hunter 
who  had  lost  his  way  penetrated  to  the 
Garden  Rock,  where  he  beheld  a  number 
of  gourds  placed  in  the  crotches  of  the 
trees.  One  of  these  he  seized,  and  made 
off  with  it,  but  in  the  hurry  of  his  retreat 
he  let  it  fall  among  the  rocks,  when  a 
great  stream  gushed  forth,  which  wash- 
ed him  away  and  swept  him  down  the 
precipice,  where  he  was  dashed  in  pieces, 
and  the  stream  made  its  way  to  the  Hud- 
son, and  continues  to  flow  to  the  present 
day,  being  the  identical  stream  known  by 
the  name  of  the  Kaaterskill." 

This  account  of  its  enchanted  birth 
may  be  readily  received  by  all  the  lov- 
ers of  the  picturesque  who  have  follow- 
ed the  Kaaterskill  from  its  source  to  its 
junction  with  the  Catskill  Creek  just  be- 
fore it  loses  itself  in  the  Hudson.  Its 
path  down  the  mountain-gorges  is  diver- 
sified by  every  variety  of  waterfall,  cas- 
cade, rapid  and  whirlpool.  As  a  mere 
matter  of  curiosity,  one  is  interested  to 
see  what  a  small  stream  may  accomplish 
in  the  course  of  a  few  miles  in  its  frantic 
haste  to  reach  the  valley.  The  Kaaters- 
kill has  its  head-waters  in  the  North  and 
South  Lakes,  near  the  Catskill  Mountain 
House,  and  sets  out  upon  its  career  with 


a  bold  plunge  of  two  hundred  and  six- 
ty feet  into  the  ravine  —  the  Kaaterskill 
Falls.  Next,  after  a  leaping,  swirling, 
foaming,  eddying  course  down  the  glen, 
it  makes  the  descent  known  as  Bastion 
Falls,  after  which  it  pursues  a  winding 
way  through  the  grottos  and  caves  and 
around  the  beetling  crags,  ledges  and 
cliffs  of  the  Kaaterskill  Clove. 

The  word  clove  in  this  significance 
perhaps  requires  interpretation.  All  the 
passes  or  clefts  in  the  Catskill  Mountains 
are  called  cloves.  Besides  the  Kaaters- 
kill Clove  there  are  Plattekill  and  Stony 
Cloves,  each  offering  grand  and  roman- 
tic scenery.  -The  Kaaterskill  Clove  is 
perhaps  the  dearest  of  all  to  artist  and 
tourist,  from  its  combination  of  a  lavish 
and  large  -  featured  sublimity  with  the 
most  delicate  and  subtle  effects  of  pic- 
turesqueness.  The  ascent  to  the  Moun- 
tain House  by  this  road  is  in  every  re- 
spect a  contrast  to  the  one  described  in 
our  first  paper.  Along  the  old  road  the 
eye  is  tempted  every  moment  to  the  mo- 
mentarily-widening circumference  of  the 
grand  view  opening  behind.  Through 
the  Clove  the  mountain-ranges  close  in 
upon  one  another  and  shut  out  all  but  the 
peaks  themselves  and  the  skies  above. 
After  passing  through  Palensville  the 
beauty  and  the  grandeur  of  the  Mountain 
Pass  all  at  once  open  before  the  eye.  On 
the  right  towers  High  Rock  of  Palensville 
Overlook,  seventeen  hundred  and  twen- 
ty-eight feet  of  sheer  precipice  above  the 
bed  of  the  Kaaterskill  below,  with  Grand- 
view  House  perched  on  the  summit.  The 
effect  is  sudden  and  startling,  and  the  key 
of  strong  feeling  is  at  once  definitely 
struck.  The  feeling  of  utter  wildness; 
the  majestic  repose  of  the  peaks  above ; 
below,  the  shaded  and  cool  track  of  the 
ravine  through  which  the  stream  finds 
its  way  among  rocks  and  ledges  in  in- 
tervals of  cascade  and  foam ;  ahead,  the 
dark  and  misty  gorge  curving  far  away ; 
while  behind  rise  the  grand  mountain- 
forms, — all  combine  to  impress  the  eye 
and  charm  the  heart.  Few  hints  of  ani- 
mate life  are  to  be  met  here.  An  eagle 
resting  on  the  dead  branch  of  some 
towering  pine,  or  a  bear  issuing  from  a 
rocky  grotto,  would  be  eminently  in  keep- 


CATS  KILL   AND    THE    CATS  KILL    REGION. 


51 


ing  with  the  scene,  which  now  impresses 
one  almost  too  vividly  with  its  wide,  un- 
broken, desolate  solitude. 

Bears,  panthers,  wild -cats,  and  even 
deer,  were  until  within  thirty  or  forty 
years  numerous  among  the  Catskills, 
and  within  fifteen  or  twenty  years  sol- 
itary bears  and  panthers  have  ranged 
near  enough  to  the  dwellings  of  men  to 
be  seen  and  fired  at ;  but  it  is  now  only 
a  tradition  about  the  howling  of 
wolves  and  the  scream  of  the 
panther  alarming  the  farmers  by 
night,  and  an  occasional  eagle 
soaring  aloft  over  his  old  eyries 
is  certain  to  become  the  billet  of 
some  presumptuous  bullet. 

Mr.  Hall,  the  artist,  has  a 
charming  summer-house,  built 
in  picturesque  mediaeval  fashion, 
in  the  very  midst  of  these  wild'" 
deep,  lonely  gorges.  And  the 
"summer  boarder"  too  may  find 
quarters  here.  The  "summer 
boarder,"  indeed,  is  the  steady 
developing  force  through  all  the 
Catskill  region,  and  sets  in  mo- 
tion enterprises  for  which  any- 
thing except  a  powerful  pecuni- 
ary motive  would  be  inadequate. 
Years  ago,  when  the  lovers  of  the 
picturesque  were  rarer  than  to- 
day, and  when  the  only  notion 
of  mountain  -  scenery  was  the 
wide  view  to  be  gained  from  the 
top  of  the  heights,  a  gentleman 
from  New  York,  an  enthusiastic 
tourist,  came  to  Catskill  and  en- 
gaged one  of  the  mountaineers 
to  pilot  him  about  the  less -fre- 
quented paths  and  byways. 
The  visitor  was  of  an  imagina- 
tive and  poetic  frame  of  mind,  and  en- 
tered upon  each  fresh  scene  with  delight 
as  he  traversed  the  glens  and  followed 
the  rocky  beds  of  the  streams  through 
tortuous  ravines.  His  cicerone  bore  his 
zeal,  his  exclamations,  his  quotations,  his 
loudly-expressed  admirations,  as  long  as 
he  could,  then  cynically  remarked,  "  I 
say,  mister,  you  come  from  New  York, 
don't  you?" 

Yes,  the  gentleman  came  from  New 
York. 


"Wa'al,  then,  what  would  you  say 
s'pose  I  went  down  there  an'  was  to  go 
gawkin'  round  as  you  do  here?" 

That  was  a  generation  and  more  ago : 
the  Catskill  mountaineer  of  to-day  may 
wonder  in  his  secret  heart  what  strange 
impulse  sets  the  steady  stream  of  sum- 
mer boarders  moving  toward  the  moun- 
tains, but  he  accepts  the  idiosyncrasy 
as  a  providential  interposition  in  his 


ROCK,  ON  CHURCH'S  LKUGK,  KAATERSKILL 
CLOVE. 

own   behalf,  and   makes   his  profit  out 
of  it. 

We  have  already  called  this  "  a  land 
of  streams."  All  the  Catskill  region 
abounds  in  waterfalls :  there  are  by 
actual  computation  about  one  hundred 
and  fifty  cascades  of  noticeable  beauty. 
Along  the  Clove  road  one  hears  from 
every  side  the  sound  of  the  rushing,  roar- 
ing streams,  softened  by  distance  and 
blended  into  a  murmuring  music  with  a 
plaintiveness  and  suggestiveness  all  its 


52 


CATS  KILL   AND    THE   CATSKILL   REGION. 


own.  In  order  to  find  the  streams  whose 
perpetual  babble  fills  the  ears  it  is  neces- 
sary to  make  many  a  detour,  to  descend 
into  glens,  struggle  along  rocky  beds  and 
penetrate  deeply-wooded  ravines.  Mus- 
ing over  flood  and  fell  is  apt  to  be  the  re- 
ward of  considerable  climbing.  It  would 
be  impossible  to  give  an  idea  of  the  va- 
riety of  beautiful  and  lovable  cascades 
to  be  found  within  an  hour's  walk  from 
different  parts  of  this  road.  Drummond's 
Falls,  Bastion  Falls,  Dog  Hole,  Butter- 
milk Falls,  Fawn's  Leap,  are  but  a  few 
of  the  names.  The  two  latter  are  too 
easily  accessible  to  demand  fatigue.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  find  a  more  charm- 
ing stretch  of  road-scenery  than  is  pre- 
sented between  Profile  Rock  and  Fawn's 
Leap.  Church's  Ledge  overhangs  the 
road,  and  on  the  other  hand  the  Kaa- 
terskill  plunges  down  the  rocks,  swirling 
and  eddying  around  the  great  boulders 
which  impede  the  way.  A  little  farther 
on  the  thunders  of  Fawn's  Leap  drown 
the  gradually -decreasing  sound  of  the 
rapids.  This  is  an  exceeding  beautiful 
waterfall,  named  from  the  incident  re- 
counted of  a  fawn's  escaping  a  hunter 
by  a  bound  from  one  brink  of  the  pre- 
cipice to  the  other.  The  stream  falls 
over  a  perpendicular  wall  seamed  and 
channelled  with  the  water-marks  of  the 
long  centuries. 

Following  this  brook  up  its  wild  bed 
to  the  foot  of  Haines's  Falls  is  one  of 
the  most  charming  of  pedestrian  excur- 
sions. The  rocks,  the  prostrate  and  de- 
cayed trunks  of  giant  pines  cushioned 
with  moss  or  entwined  with  creepers,  the 
green  nooks  on  every  hand  embowered 
in  vines,  the  tall  pines  towering  from  the 
cliffs  above,  the  silver  birches  with  their 
long  roots  clinging  closely  to  the  rocks 
and  scanty  soil,  —  all  these  offer  hints  to 
be  worked  up  into  poems  or  pictures,  or 
simply  to  charm  the  mind  and  heart  of 
the  lover  of  such  wild  secluded  places 
where  Nature,  and  Nature  alone,  shows 
her  handiwork. 

But  to  ascend  to  Haines's  Falls  we 
will  return  to  the  road,  and  pass  along 
the  site  of  the  great  tanneries  which  for- 
merly filled  this  region  with  activities. 
On  the  right  are  signs  of  a  clearing  where 


there  was  once  a  settlement  of  tanners, 
now  overgrown  with  a  slight  second 
growth,  with  here  and  there  lofty  pines 
of  the  primitive  forest  raising  their  state- 
ly heads.  As  the  way  grows  gradually 
more  steep  we  pass  the  place  where  the 
terrible  landslide  occurred,  which  still 
shows  such  fresh  marks  of  the  destruc- 
tion it  wrought  that  one  is  compelled 
to  shudder.  In  fact,  the  whole  stretch 
of  the  Clove  road  suggests  the  ease  with 
which  accidents  might  happen :  it  is  nev- 
er broad,  and  the  narrow  gauge,  mended 
on  the  brink  of  a  precipice  with  spruce 
and  pine  boughs  and  stones,  calls  for 
prudence  on  the  part  of  the  traveller. 
The  spring  freshets  make  the  road  whol- 
ly impassable  for  a  time,  and  the  sum- 
mer storms  cause  terrible  havoc.  The 
soil  in  these  parts  is  of  red  sandstone 
clay,  and  the  dust  is  fine,  penetrating, 
and  often  so  deep  that  it  seems  actually 
impossible  to  walk  through  it.  A  gentle 
shower  would  often  help  the  pedestrian, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  teamsters.  But  it 
was  probably  of  Catskill  Mountains  that 
it  was  first  said,  "  It  never  rains  but  it 
pours;"  and  the  effect  of  praying  for 
rain  might  be  similar  to  the  experience 
of  the  good  woman  who  lived  on  the 
side  of  a  hill  and  had  a  garden  which  in 
a  dry  summer  was  parched  by  drought. 
She  applied  to  a  Methodist  minister,  ask- 
ing his  prayers  in  this  emergency.  His 
supplications  were  at  once  answered  by 
a  terrible  deluge,  which  not  only  watered 
the  good  woman's  vegetables,  but  swept 
her  garden  entirely  away.  "  There  !"  she 
exclaimed,  "that  is  always  the  way  with 
them  Methodists:  they  never  know  when 
to  stop." 

Looking  back  after  passing  the  "land- 
slide," one  begins  to  estimate  the  diffi- 
culties of  the  long  ascent  through  the 
gorge.  The  mountains  no  longer  inter- 
lock, shutting  out  the  horizons,  and  from 
the  heights  now  gained  the  valley  of  the 
Hudson  and  the  blue  hills  of  New  Eng- 
land become  visible. 

The  Haines  House  is  situated  on  the 
bluff  above  the  falls.  None  of  the  nu- 
merous hotels  and  boarding-houses  of 
Tannersville  has  a  better  reputation,  and 
the  guests  have  the  privilege  of  hearing 


CATSKILL   AND    THE    CATSKILL   REGION. 


53 


a  manly  and  vigorous  expounding  of  the  Word  every  Sunday  morning  by  the  zeal- 
ous and  worthy  landlord.  The  ravine  of  Haines's  Falls  is  of  indescribable  beauty. 
The  waterfall  itself  is  the  flow  of  a  hundred  rivulets  over  the  brink  of  the  tremen- 
dous precipice.  When  the  full  stream  is  not  turned  on, 
the  rills  become  almost  lost  in  the  descent,  and  blow  about 
like  ribbons  of  fine  gauze  floating  in  the  air.  Down  in 
the  shady,  mossy  depths  of  the  ravine  this  phantom  of 
mist  and  foam  becomes  like  a  procession  of  ghosts,  ever 
plunging  on,  beckoning,  pointing. 

There  is  no  end  to  the  falls  of  this  stream.  In  one  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  the  descent,  all  told,  is  almost  five  hundred 
feet.  The  cascades  are 
eight  in  number,  and  of 
every  variety  and  degree 
of  beauty.  One  from  its 
lustrous  and  gleaming 
splendor  might  well  be 
called  the  Silver  Cas- 
cade ;  another  is  roof- 
ed in  by  rocks  ;  almost 
every  one  is  gemmed  by 
an  iris  and  played  over 
by  the  most  exquisite 
hues.  To  look  back  at 
one  point  and  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  long  se- 
ries of  cataracts  is  to  en- 
joya  moment  of  startled 
and  delighted  surprise. 
There  is  in  the  Catskill 
region  such  a  wealth  of 
loveliness  that  one  hes- 
itates where  to  place  a 
resting  finger  and  de- 
clare, "This  is  the  most  CHURCH'S  LEDGE  AND  BRIDGE,  KAATERSKILL  CLOVE. 
beautiful ;"  but  in  the  ra- 
vine beneath  Haines's  Falls  one  is  tempt- 
ed to  decide  that  one  can  ask  for  noth- 
ing- better. 


Tannersville  is  now  the  favorite  resort 
of  the  regular  summer  boarders  in  the 
Catskill  region.  There  can  be  no  health- 
ier place  in  the  world.  As  we  have  said 
before,  the  "summer  boarder"  is  every- 
where here  the  lever  of  advancement. 
Telegraph-wires  run  all  over  the  moun- 
tains, and  the  Wall  street  operator  may 
enjoy  recreation  in  this  bracing  air  and 
at  the  same  time  not  lose  sight  of  the 
fateful  bulletins  of  the  Stock  Exchange. 
There  are  boarding-houses  and  hotels 
vithout  end,  and  there  are  enterprising 
Haineses  on  every  hand,  varying  in  rep- 
utation, it  is  currently  whispered,  from 


saints  to  sinners.  "Mulford's"  is  a  great 
resort  of  Philadelphians,  and  the  good- 
humored,  handsome  face  of  the  proprie- 
tor, combined  with  his  rare  ability  in 
keeping  a  hotel,  has  made  him  for  years 
a  favorite  with  the  summer  travellers  from 
the  Quaker  City.  "  Norman  Gray's," 
which  for  more  than  two  generations  has 
been  the  most  frequented  hostelry  in  the 
section,  is  now  kept  by  Mr.  Roggen. 

Round  Top  and  High  Peak  raise  their 
massive  forms  above  this  broad  table- 
land we  have  gained.  Midway  between 
these  two  mountains  were  formerly  the 
remains  of  a  fort  used  during  the  Rev- 
olution as  head-quarters  for  the  Indians 
in  the  pay  of  the  British,  from  which  they 
used  to  descend  into  the  valleys  below, 


54 


CATS  KILL   AND    THE    CATSKILL    REGION. 


seize  unarmed  men  and  carry  them  off 
as  hostages  and  prisoners.  These  acts 
of  hostility  were  common  all  through  the 
war.  Accounts  of  these  captures,  and  the 
long  imprisonment  which  followed,  have 
been  preserved.  The  Abeel  house,  some 
three  or  four  miles  from  Catskill  on  the 
road  to  the  mountain,  is  still  standing. 
"  One  Sabbath  evening  in  the  spring  of 
1781  the  Abeels,  having  just  returned 
from  a  religious  meeting,  were  taking 
their  supper,  when  their  house  was  sud- 
denly entered  by  Indians  and  Tories. 
They  were  taken  wholly  by  surprise,  so 
that  there  was  no  time  to  seize  their  guns, 
which  were  on  the  brackets  attached  to 
the  great  beams  overhead ;  nor  would 
they  have  been  of  any  use  to  them  had 
they  done  so,  for  the  negro  servants  or 
slaves  of  the  family,  being  leagued  with 
the  Indians,  had  during  the  day  taken 
the  priming  from  the  guns  and  put  ashes 
in  the  pans.  .  .  .  The  house  was  plun- 
dered, chests  and  tables  were  split  in 
pieces  by  the  Indians  with  .their  toma- 
hawks, beds  were  ripped  open,  feathers 
scattered,  and  small  articles  of  value 
were  carried  away.  The  women  of  the 
family  were  not  molested,  but  David  and 
his  son  Anthony  were  taken  prisoners. 
As  David  was  advanced  in  life,  he  would 
not  have  been  taken  away  had  he  not 
recognized  one  of  his  Tory  neighbors 
who  was  painted  and  disguised  as  an 
Indian,  incautiously  saying  to  him,  '  Is 
that  you  ?'  The  Tory  replied,  '  Since 
you  know  me,  you  must  go  too.'  .  .  . 
The  prisoners  were  led  by  way  of  the 
mountains,  and  spent  one  or  two  nights 
in  a  small  fort  on  the  south-west  slope 
of  Round  Top,  beyond  the  Kaaterskill 
Clove.  From  this  fort  they  went  down 
the  banks  of  the  Schoharie  Kill.  Da- 
vid Abeel,  being  old,  fell  behind  in  the 
march,  until,  having  overheard  one  of 
the  party  say  that  it  would  be  necessary 
to  kill  him,  he  strained  every  nerve  and 
kept  up  with  them.  .  .  .  Their  destina- 
tion was  Canada :  they  had  a  vast  un- 
broken wilderness  to  pass,  and,  finding 
no  game  in  the  midst  of  it,  they  well- 
nigh  died  of  hunger." 

Arrived  in  Canada,  they  were  deliver- 
ed up  to  the  British  authorities,  who  had 


a  humane  and  merciful  way  of  paying 
their  savage  emissaries  a  certain  reward 
for  prisoners  or  their  scalps.  The  Abeels 
were  confined  first  at  Montreal,  then  at 
Quebec,  and  lastly  on  the  Isle  of  Jesu. 
with  a  large  party  of  American  prison- 
ers. From  this  island  they  contrived  to 
make  their  escape,  the  record  of  which 
is  worth  studying. 

During  their  captivity,  under  the  very 
eyes  of  sentinels  and  guards,  it  is  related 
that  they  celebrated  the  Declaration  of 
Independence  on  its  anniversary  with 
four  gallons  of  wine,  two  of  rum  and  a 
suitable  amount  of  loaf-sugar !  It  may 
seem  to  us,  a  century  later,  as  if  destiny 
had  appointed  such  an  admirable  work 
for  our  forefathers  to  achieve  that  it  was 
well  worth  the  suffering  for,  but  they 
knew  nothing  of  the  rewards,  and  grim- 
ly and  patiently  and  hopelessly  held  by 
their  opinions,  treading  in  paths  which 
it  was  difficult  to  keep,  feeling  the  chill 
air  and  waiting  through  darkness.  There 
were  good  patriots  among  the  Catskill 
Mountains. 

It  is  a  fortunate  circumstance  for  the 
lovers  of  Catskill  scenery  that  the  present 
generation  of  landowners  have  awaken- 
ed to  the  necessity  of  preserving  the  beau- 
ty of  their  forests  and  wooded  nooks.  The 
most  magnificent  forests  have  been  hith- 
erto wantonly  sacrificed  on  every  hand 
to  the  paltry  needs  of  the  hour.  The 
pioneer  and  early  settler  is  a  true  van- 
dal, and  the  instinct  of  destruction  is 
strong  within  him,  while  he  has  not  the 
discrimination  to  choose  the  place  he  is 
to  devastate,  and  ends  by  injuring  his  own 
property  for  generations.  It  is  a  strange 
sight  to  see  the  landowner  who  has  re- 
lentlessly given  over  acres  of  magnif- 
icent oaks,  chestnuts  and  pines  to  the 
woodchopper,  setting  out  puny  saplings 
to  build  up  shade  and  beauty  again  for 
his  possessions.  One  instance  of  wanton 
sacrifice  is  related.  The  owner  of  some 
acres  of  the  heavily-timbered  mountain- 
side offered  them  to  one  of  the  largest 
real-estate  proprietors  in  the  section,  set- 
ting the  price  at  an  extravagant  figure. 
Not  being  ready  to  pave  the  ground  with 
gold,  although  he  desired  the  property, 
the  rich  man  declined  to  buy  except  at 


CATSKILL  AND    THE   CATSKILL   REGION. 


55 


a  reasonable  price.     The  owner  retorted  [ 
by  cutting  down  every  tree  on  his  lots, 
thus  doing  his  best  to  injure  the  beauty 
of  the  lovely  mountain  -  road.     Nature 
exerts  herself  to  repair  such  wanton  mis- 
chief with  her  lavish 
gifts  of  vine  and  fern 
and  moss  and  cop- 
pice. Everywhere  in 
the  clearings  may  be 
found  the  glossy  lau- 
rel, which  in  June 
and  July  delights  the 
eye  with  its  lovely 
clusters  of  pink-and- 
white    blossoms; 
ferns  of  every  variety 
known  to  the  climate 
— the  exquisite  maid- 
en-hair, the  delicate 
lady  -  fern ;   and   all 
those  plumy  emerald 
tufts  with  which  Na- 
ture delights  to  finish 
up  her  waste  places 
into  a  high  perfection 
which  no  gardener's 
art  can  rival.     The 
flora   of  the   region 
is  extensive,  and  em- 
braces flowers  of  al- 
most every  latitude. 
In  spring  and  early 
summer  one   may 
find  a  pretty  study 
of  the  seasons  in  tra- 
cing the  blossoms 
as  they  follow  each 
other  up  the  heights. 
Snow  often  lies  deep 
in  the  extensive 
woods  between 
North   and  South 
Mountains  in  May, 
when   the  roses  are 
budding  in  the  val- 
ley,  and   the   first  spring    flowers   and 
the  first  tender  red  maple-leaves  come 
trembling  out  when  the  full  panoply  of 
summer  foliage  is  spread  to  the  breezes 
of  the  lower  earth.     The  mountain-ash, 
with  its  clusters  of  red  berries,  is  here 
found  in  perfection.    White  oak,  red  oak, 
holm  oak,  birches,  iron -wood,  balsam 


firs,  spruce,  white  cedar,  pine  and  juni 
per,  maples  and  mountain-willows,  are 
among  the  varieties  of  trees  which  min- 
gle their  luxuriant  greenery  in  the  sea 
of  billowy  verdure  that  clothes  the 


FAWN'S   LEAP,   KAATERSKILL  CLOVE. 


mountain-sides.  Here  is  to  be  found  a 
kind  of  pine  which  is  rarely  seen  else- 
where. It  grows  to  no  great  height,  and 
instead  of  shooting  its  stem  straight  up 
to  the  skies,  is  gnarled,  knotted,  tortured 
into  shapes  which  suggest  the  punish- 
ment of  those  sinners  whom  Dante  found 
in  one  of  the  circles  of  hell.  The  pines 


CATS  KILL   AND    THE   CATSKILL   REGION. 


FALLS   IN  BUTTERMILK    RAVINE,   KAATERSKILL  CLOVE. 


of  all  varieties  are  among  the  chiefest 
beauties  of  Catskill  wooded  scenery.  The 
numbers  of  evergreen  trees  indeed  pre- 
serve the  features  of  the  landscape  views, 
and  even  in  the  depth  of  winter  rob  the 
mountains  of  dreariness  and  lend  color 
and  light  to  the  snow-  and  ice -covered 
world.  In  fact,  the  Catskills  in  winter 
present  characteristic  beauties  which  the 
luxuriant  greenery  of  summer  hides.  The 
grand  forms  of  the  mountains  can  be 
more  distinctly  seen  with  their  scars  and 
seams ;  their  abrupt  and  massive  cliffs 
clearly  limned  against  the  luminous 
azure  ;  the  well  -  defined  ridges  which 
mark  the  regular  geological  formations  ; 
the  shadows  of  the  deep  gorges,  and  the 
lofty  summits  with  their  thick  covering  of 
ice  sparkling  in  the  white  sunshine.  The 
mountains  clasp  Winter  to  their  rugged 
bosoms,  and  love  her  better  than  the  fair- 
est and  sweetest  summer  bride.  They 
hang  upon  her  glittering  gems,  clothe 
her  in  shining  and  gleaming  white,  and 
deck  the  world  for  her  in  myriad  crys- 
tal forms. 

The  distinctive  features  of  the  Catskill 
chain  are  its  cloves,  where  the  mountains 
have  been  cleft  and  riven  asunder,  while 
on  either  hand  the  steep,  abrupt  summits 
are  left  towering  above  in  bare,  rugged, 
imposing  grandeur.  In  the  winter  these 
cloves,  with  their  pre- 
cipices, deep  ravines, 
waterfalls  and  rushing 
torrents,  take  on  a 
magnificence  which  is 
all  their  own.  The 
thousand  rills  which 
trickle  from  the  verge 
of  the  cliffs  a  thousand 
feet  above  congeal,  and 
form  glittering  stalac- 
tites, columns  and  pil- 
lars of  ice  fluted  and 
crowned  with  capitals 
of  exquisite  beauty. 
The  cascades  freeze 
into  wondrous  forms, 
their  spray  taking  flow- 
er-like shapes  of  incon- 
ceivable loveliness: 
the  streams  become  a 
bed  of  ice,  every  ripple 


CATSKILL  AND    THE   CATSKILL   REGION. 


57 


and  swirl  and  rapid  transformed  into 
shapes  which  in  their  aerial  delicacy 
surpass  the  power  of  pen  to  describe. 
Over  this  world  of  ice  and  snow  bend 
the  eternal  pines  with  an  everlasting 
refrain  of  sadness  and 
prophecy  moaning  in 
their  branches.  Mr. 
Stone,  a  Catskill  artist, 
has  embodied  these 
scenes  in  a  clever  char- 
coal sketch,  illustrating 
Heine's  weird  and 
charming  conceit: 

A  pine  tree  is  standing  lonely 
In   the   North  on  a  moun- 
tain's brow, 

Nodding  with  whitest  cover, 
Wrapped  up  by  the  ice  and 
snow. 

It  is  dreaming  of  a  palm  tree 
Which,  far  in  the  morning- 
land, 

Lonely  and  silent,  sorrows 
'Mid    burning    rocks     and 
sand. 

But  while  we  have 
summoned  up  a  pic- 
ture of  these  deep 
mountain  -  gorges  in 
winter's  icy  solitudes, 
it  is  yet  the  summer- 
land  that  we  are  tread- 
ing, and  suggestions  of 
January  blasts  are  to 
be  met  with  only  in 
the  great  trees  lying 
prone  in  the  forest — 
the  rocks  upheaved 
and  torn  from  their 
beds  in  the  path  the 
avalanche  has  left. 
Nature  quickly  covers 
up  the  ravages  she  has 
wrought,  and  over  the  fallen  tree  she 
weaves  a  mantle  of  ivy  and  creeper  and 
moss  which  decks  it  in  more  than  its 
primitive  beauty. 

One  of  the  privileges  of  mountain-life 
is  the  ease  and  diversity  with  which  one 
may  achieve  novel  and  exciting  enter- 
prises. In  this  vast  area  of  rocky  heights 
and  deep  ravines  lurk  all  sorts  of  beau- 
tiful undiscovered  places  which  beckon 
the  seeker  into  the  charming  distances. 


The  old  fancies  of  dryads  and  naiads 
seem  neither  fantastic  nor  strange  here 
as  we  peer  into  the  dim  colonnade  and 
see  the  white  spray  of  a  waterfall  taking 
wreathing  shapes,  summoning,  alluring, 


CLIFF  IN   THE  ARTIST'S   GLEN,   KAATERSKILL  CLOVE. 


pointing  and  following  each  other.  And 
along  the  shadowy  forest-aisles  the  sun- 
light, flickering  down  upon  the  tree-trunks, 
transforms  the  dim  vistas  into  shifting 
and  alternate  spaces  of  brightness  and 
gloom  which  suggest  impalpable  forms 
circling  around  an  oak  tree.  To  be  sure, 
these  fancies  vainly  beckon,  waylay  and 
pursue,  and  always  vanish  :  there  is  nei- 
ther dryad  nor  naiad  when  one  stretches 
out  one's  hand  to  grasp  the  vision  ;  but 


C.//-.SA7/./.    .-M7J    Till:    CM  SKILL   REGION. 


one  has  seen  them,  for  all  tli.it.  anil  the 
spirits  of  the  waterfalls  aiul  of  the  tree- 
trunks  art-  an  artnal  part  of  tlu-M-  t'.ui\ 
like  and  enchanting  solitudes. 

It  was  suggested  to  our  artist  that  a  cer- 
tain shelving  rock  in  one  of  the  illusti.i 
tions  of  this  article  might  very  well  set  off 
the  figure  of  a  fisherman,  but  he  replied 
that  there  were  no  fishermen  now-a-d.i\  -> 
in  the  Clove,  and  that  his  sketches  were  in 
.ill  respects  studies  from  Nature  and  the 
actual.  Stories  are,  however,  preserved 
of  great  fishing -exploits  in  this  section 
a  few  years  ago,  and  since  now -a- days 
pisciculture  is  an  enterprise  enthusiasti- 
cally undertaken  by  several  men  in  this 
region,  it  is  confidently  predicted  that  in 
a  year  or  two  more  it  need  no  longer  be 
a  tradition  that  the  mountain  -  streams 
were  once  full  of  fish.  In  Stony  Clove 
and  Warner's  Kill  trout  weighing  from 
twelve  ounces  to  a  pound  apiece  are 
often  caught  in  great  quantities.  But 
the  vigorous  methods  of  American  an- 
glers show  little  appreciation  of  the  real 
pleasures  and  ameliorating  influences  of 
the  Waltonian  art.  A  trout  is  a  creature 
of  delicate  intuitions  and  fine  discrimi- 
nation, and  has  no  fancy  for  leading  a 
life  like  that  of  a  frightened  sheep.  A 
tme  sportsman  loves  sport  with  a  keener 
delight  in  the  experiences  it  offers  than  in 
its  results;  but  an  American  is  in  such 
haste  to  be  doing,  to  be  accomplishing 
something,  that  he  often  loses  the  charm 
of  these  loiterings  by  the  way.  The  de- 
risive silence  of  our  woods  and  moun- 
tain-sides, our  brooks  and  streams  and 
bays,  answers  him  when  he  starts  for  a 
day's  fishing  or  shooting.  We  have  for- 
gotten that  one  thing  is  necessary  in  or- 
der to  allure  the  timid  creatures  of  the 
forest  into  the  old  multitudinous  abound- 
ing life — /.  #.  the  right  to  live.  We  call 
the  English  brutal  in  their  love  of  sport, 
while  the  fact  remains  that  an  English- 
man is  in  sympathy  with  every  living 
thing.  An  American,  perhaps  for  the 
reason  that  his  ancestors  were  compel- 
led to  fight  against  the  wild  animal  life 
of  the  unbroken  continent,  has  his  hand 
against  every  beast  of  the  field. 

But  we  must  go  back  to  Kaaterskill 
Clove,  and  after  passing  Fawn's  Leap, 


Buttci  milk  Falls,  etc.,  leave  the  road  at 
Lake  Creek  Hridge  and  take  the  foot- 
path through  the  glen  to  the  foot  of 
Kaatei  skill  Falls.  It  U  a  walk  abound 
in;.',  in  picturesqueness,  offering  on  evciy 
hand  rh.u  med  vistas  which  inspire  a  wish 
to  sit  still  and  dream  all  day.  The  sound 
of  waters  is  for  ever  in  our  ears  with  its 
perpetual  cheerful  babble  or  its  loud  and 
deep-toned  maiin^  as  we  approach  I '>.!-< 
tion  Falls.  At  this  lovely  place  we  cross 
the  stream,  and,  still  ascending  the  banks, 
soon  reach  the  foot  of  the  Kaaterskills. 

The  voice  of  this  waterfall  is  one  of 
peculiar  melody,  and  through  the  trees 
as  we  make  the  approach  we  see 

Waving  apparitions  gleam 

of  the  lovely  shining  cataract.  This  is 
the  fall  which  inaugurates  the  wild  ca- 
reer of  the  Kaaterskill  down  the  moun- 
tain -  gorges  to  the  valley.  "  Ce  n'est 
que  le  premier  pas  qui  coflte;"  and  this 
is  a  step  over  a  precipice  of  three  hun- 
dred feet.  As  we  approach  from  below 
the  huge  ramparts  of  rock,  semicircular 
in  shape,  frown  above,  and  in  the  centre 
the  cascade  plunges  like  a  shining  spirit 
carrying  a  torch  lit  with  the  very  white- 
ness of  heaven  into  the  shady  depths 
below.  The  first  descent  is  one  hundred 
and  eighty  feet,  into  a  rocky  bed  through 
which  the  hissing  waters  force  their  w.i\ 
for  a  few  rods,  then  fling  themselves  over 
the  second  wall  of  rock,  some  eighty  or 
ninety  feet,  making  the  entire  descent 
from  two  hundred  and  sixty  to  two  hun- 
dred and  seventy  feet.  Viewed  from  the 
glen  below,  the  cascade  is  scarcely  bro- 
ken to  the  eye,  and  the  effect  of  one 
continuous  fall  is  gained.  What  it  lacks 
in  volume  it  makes  up  in  delicate  and 
aei  i.d  charm.  Its  shining  spray  is  tossed 
into  feathery  flakes  and  takes  on  the  most 
exquisite  effects  of  light.  Except  for  this 
leap  of  the  mountain-brook,  this  mighty 
gorge  would  have  no  feature  to  redeem 
it  from  an  almost  savage  desolation ;  but 
with  this  wild,  wayward  creature  of  life 
and  light  springing  from  on  high  into 
the  very  heart  of  the  rocky  waste,  the 
scene  is  transformed  into  one  of  the 
rarest  beauty.  Everywhere  indeed  in 
this  region,  as  we  have  already  remark- 


CATSKILL   AND    THE    CATSKILL   REGION. 


59 


cd,  the  most  delicate  and  charming 
prettinesses  are  wedded  to  the  rugged 
grandeur  of  the  massive  mountain-forms. 
Between  the  ribs  of  gray  rock  of  the 
hardest  basalt  a  thin  stratum  of  light, 
friable  stone  of  shell  formation  has  grad- 
ually worn  away,  leaving  a  natural  gal- 
lery running  round  the  huge  amphithea- 


tre directly  behind  the  upper  Kaaterskill 
falls.  The  overhanging  rock  projects 
some  seventy  or  eighty  feet,  and  the 
cataract  viewed  from  this  point  is  the 
most  charming  sight  imaginable  as  the 
light  stream,  broken  into  fleecy  flakes, 
is  swayed  hither  and  thither  by  the  wind 
and  begemmed  with  glittering  iris  tints. 


The  falls  in  spring  and  autumn,  when 
swollen  by  the  rains,  carry  a  consid- 
erable volume  of  water,  but  in  the  sum- 
mer-time the  bulk  is  reduced,  and  it  is 
the  habit  of  the  owner  of  the  place  to 
dam  up  the  stream,  and  let  on  the  wa- 
ters for  a  half  hour's  rush  and  roar  at 
stated  periods,  by  way  of  enhancing 
the  effects. 

A  wooden  staircase  takes  one  to  the 
top  of  the  gorge,  and  from  every  point 


Ol.L)   TANNKRY,    KAATERSKILL   CLOVE. 

of  the  ascent  the  falls  present  new 
features  of  beauty,  while  from  the  very 
brink  of  the  shelving  rock,  where  the 
stream  leaps  fearlessly  into  the  tre- 
mendous chasm  below,  the  whole  ra- 
vine opens  with  its  surpassing  lovely 
wildness. 

Watching  a  cataract  from  above  on  a 
summer's  day,  one  feels  the  dizzy  fasci- 
nation of  its  tireless  flow.  Everything 
seems  to  tend  toward  it.  A  bee  comes 
flying  on  his  homeward  way  laden  with 
wild  honeysuckle  sweets,  and,  feeling  the 
cool  breath  of  the  air-currents  above  the 
cataract,  is  drawn  toward  them  a  mo- 


6o 


CATSKILL  AND    THE   CATSKILL   REGION. 


ment ;  then,  having  yielded,  he  tries  to 
regain  his  poise,  but  staggering  with  the 
weight  is  carried  helplessly  over:  a  but- 
terfly on  new-found  wings,  zigzagging 
from  point  to  point  and  resting  his  be- 
jewelled pinions  on  every  leaf  and  rock 
which  offers  a  support,  is  sucked  into  the 
spray  and  goes  fluttering  down.  It  seems 
an  easy  death  to  die.  There  is,  however, 
a  story  told  of  a  young  man's  falling  over 
the  lower  falls,  a  distance  of  eighty  feet 
or  more,  and  escaping  comparatively  un- 
injured ;  and  a  dog  belonging  to  Mr. 
Schutt,  the  proprietor  of  the  Laurel 
House  close  at  hand,  fell  over  the  up- 
per falls,  one  hundred  and  eighty  feet, 
and  was  so  little  hurt  that  he  scrambled 
up  the  sides  of  the  steep  banks,  with 
small  air  of  astonishment  at  his  mis- 
step. These  stories  go  some  way  in 
giving  an  air  of  veracity  to  Oliver  Gold- 
smith's description  of  the  Falls  of  Ni- 
agara when  he  says  that  Indians  often 
pass  over  them  in  safety  in  their  birch- 
bark  canoes. 

Laurel  House — or  "  Schutt's" — just  on 
the  brink  of  the  rocks,  is  a  well-kept  and 
comfortable  hotel,  accommodating  forty 
or  fifty  boarders.  It  is  a  pleasant  fea- 
ture of  these  mountain -resorts  that  the 
names  of  the  proprietors  are  more  often 
used  than  the  distinctive  titles  of  their 
hotels.  They  do  their  best  to  render 
all  sorts  of  pleasant  services  to  their 
guests,  and  their  cordial  welcome  and 
generous  cheer  year  after  year  are  as 
much  counted  on  by  their  returning 
boarders  as  the  scenery  and  bracing 
mountain  -  air. 

The  Laurel  House  (so  called  because 
all  about  the  Kaaterskill  Falls  the  laurel 
grows  and  blossoms  in  wonderful  luxu- 
riance) is  two  miles  from  Catskill  Moun- 
tain House.  The  paths  and  roads  be- 
tween the  two  hotels  are  full  of  beauty, 
but  one  may  walk  through  the  forest- 
path  to  South  Lake,  and  row  across  that 
beautiful  sheet  of  water,  thus  cutting  off 
half  the  way. 

Most  of  the  best  things  of  the  region 
lie  within  the  radius  of  a  few  miles  from 
Catskill  Mountain  House.  One  of  the 
wild  wood  -  paths,  diversified  with  ten 
thousand  picturesque  vistas,  leads  along 


the  top  of  the  mountains  to  Palensville 
Overlook,  High  Peak,  where  there  is  a 
little  house  called  "Grand  View  "  which 
overhangs  the  Clove.  But,  in  truth,  there 
is  no  end  to  the  expeditions  to  be  under- 
taken in  this  region,  and  the  wealth  of 
beauty  offered  requires  more  than  one 
summer,  or  even  two,  to  be  rightly  ap- 
preciated. Few  of  the  summer  boarders 
at  the  Mountain  House  attempt  more 
than  easy  drives  to  accessible  places 
and  one  or  two  scrambles  up  South  and 
North  Mountains.  There  is,  in  fact,  such 
rare  entertainment  in  the  panorama  of 
sky  and  cloud  and  landscape  spread  out 
before  the  eye  that  one  may  well  be  sat- 
isfied with  that  boundless  circumference, 
and  feel  content  to  watch  the  sunrises 
and  sunsets  and  view  the  colors  which 
burn  from  east  to  west,  and  west  to  east 
again.  Sunrise  is  a  continually -recur- 
ring phenomenon  of  wonderful  beauty 
which  no  one  observes  except  on  moun- 
tain-tops. While  darkness  broods  over 
the  world  there  is  something  mysterious, 
even  awful,  in  the  thought  of  the  sleeping 
valleys,  the  peaceful  rivers,  the  forest 
wildernesses ;  and  it  is  a  relief  to  have 
dawn  bring  the  whole  wide  earth  into 
rosy  light,  rousing  into  glad  activities  the 
cattle  upon  a  thousand  hills  and  the  whole 
worldful  of  busy  men.  Often  at  daybreak 
the  valley  below  is  like  a  turbulent  ocean 
full  of  snowy  billows,  and  the  mountains 
on  which  we  stand  seem  stranded  in  a 
shoreless  sea.  Sometimes  a  sharp  wind 
tears  the  mists  into  ribbons  as  soon  as 
the  sun  touches  them,  but  again  the 
morning  is  well  advanced  before  the 
vapors  roll  up  the  mountain -sides,  the 
valleys  open  to  the  eye,  and  the  river, 
smitten  by  the  sun's  luminous  track, 
begins  to  glitter  and  glimmer. 

Nothing  can  easily  exceed  the  calm 
and  majestic  beauty  of  a  clear  sunrise  on 
the  Catskills.  The  sun  comes  up  from 
behind  the  mountains  of  New  Hamp- 
shire hundreds  of  miles  away,  and  the 
march  of  the  day  over  the  intervening 
hills  and  plains  is  glorious.  Sunsets  too 
are  very  beautiful  from  these  heights. 
Sometimes  the  goldej  light  gives  way 
to  a  violet,  then  fades  into  a  clear  soft 
gray,  which  enfolds  the  earth  with  the 


CATSKILL   AND    THE    CATSKILL    REGION. 


61 


BASTION    FALLS,    KAATERSKI1.L   RAVINE. 


tenderness  of  a  benediction :  again,  when 
masses  of  clouds  bar  the  west  or  furrow 
the  zenith,  where  they  catch  the  radiance, 


the  world  is  fill- 
ed with  surpass- 
ing glory.    Often 
in    July    and  August 
while    the    sun    goes 
down  the  lightnings 
are   playing    along  the 
dark   purple    banks  of 
cloud  on  the  northern  and 
eastern  horizons,  making 
the   lower  earth   curious- 
ly dark  and  strange  and 
spectral  as  the  last  hues 
fade    from     the     west    and 
leave   only  those   sudden 
flashes  fantastically  to  light 
up  the  valley — ghostly  pres- 
ences which  add  sombreness 
to  the  darkening  landscape 
and  the  glooming  sky.  Then 
when  the  cold  night-winds  begin  to  mur- 
mur through  Pine  Orchard  there  comes 
a  curious  weird  impression  of  distance 


CATSKILL   AND    THE   CATSKILL   REGION. 


from  the  actual  living,  breathing  world. 
Nature  seems  dominant  and  humanity 
distant. 

The  other  mountain  -  gorges  —  Stony 
Clove  and  Plattekill  Clove  —  we  must 
leave  comparatively  unnoticed,  although 
both  abound  in  grand  and  beautiful 
views.  Stony  Clove  in  some  respects 
possesses  the  grandest  scenery  of  the 
region,  but  its  frowning  peaks  are  more 
barren  and  rugged,  and  it  is  not  bright- 
ened up  by  the  incessant  cascades  and 
rapids  which  fill  the  Kaaterskill  Clove 
with  beauty.  Warner's  Kill,  already 
mentioned  as  an  excellent  trout-stream, 
flows  through  a  part  of  this  gorge,  and 
is  a  favorite  tramp  with  fishermen. 

Plattekill  Clove  is  several  miles  south 
of  Kaaterskill  Clove,  and  may  be  reach- 
ed either  from  the  valley  below  or  the 
western  mountain -roads.  This  clove, 
which  in  some  respects  is  more  beau- 
tiful than  any  other,  has  been  as  yet 
little  opened  to  any  save  adventurous 
spirits,  from  the  fact  not  only  that  the 
roads  are  comparatively  rough  and  dan- 
gerous, but  that  a  considerable  amount 
of  hard  pedestrian  work  is  required  in 
order  to  reach  the  most  picturesque  bits 
of  scenery.  The  Plattekill  is  in  itself 
unique  in  its  beauty,  and  its  course  pre- 
sents the  most  interesting  features.  In 
a  stretch  of  two  miles  it  falls  twenty-five 
hundred  feet.  Its  sides  are  high  moun- 
tain-walls covered  with  almost  unbroken 
forests.  South  Peak,  four  thousand  feet 
high,  belongs  to  this  range.  On  the  top 
of  these  mountains  is  a  tranquil  lake. 
The  Plattekill  Clove  rejoices  in  tradi- 
tions and  legends,  and  within  a  few 
years  many  interesting  remains  of  the 
old  Indian  forts  have  been  discovered 
there.  The  early  settlers  of  the  valley 
below  had  much  to  suffer  from  the  sav- 
ages in  the  way  of  violence  and  atrocity. 

In  the  earliest  days  of  the  Dutch  set- 
tlements in  Catskill  there  were  golden 
speculations  of  the  wealth  of  Ind  to  be 
found  in  the  Catskills.  On  one  occa- 
sion, when  some  treaty  was  to  be  signed 
with  the  Indians,  the  chiefs  presented 
themselves  decorated  for  the  ceremony 
with  their  richest  paints  and  dyes.  One 
of  these  pigments  had  so  shining  an  ap- 


pearance that  it  attracted  the  attention 
of  the  Dutch  :  they  procured  a  quantity 
of  it,  and  sent  it  to  New  York  and  had  it 
tested  by  some  of  the  experts  of  the  day. 
It  was  declared  to  be  pure  gold.  An  en- 
terprise was  immediately  set  on  foot  to 
discover  the  sources  of  this  rich  ore,  and 
a  party  of  men,  guided  by  an  Indian, 
sought  the  place  and  returned  with  buck- 
etsful  of  the  precious  dust.  This,  or  a 
quantity  of  it,  was  despatched  to  Hol- 
land, where  a  gold -seeking  expedition 
was  at  once  fitted  out.  The  ship  was 
lost,  however,  and  all  on  board  per- 
ished. A  second  crew  of  Argonauts  had 
the  same  fate,  and.  some  of  the  original 
gold -seekers  being  lost,  the  enterprise 
was  for  the  time  abandoned. 

A  few  years  later,  in  1679,  a  glittering 
substance  was  found  in  the  washings  of 
a  rivulet  after  a  spring  freshet,  which  was 
pronounced  to  be  silver  ore.  The  land- 
owners in  the  neighborhood  at  once  set 
out  to  find  the  bed  of  silver,  but  no  soon- 
er had  they  begun  their  explorations  than 
the  heavens  poured  forth  a  deluge:  thun- 
ders rolled,  lightnings  flashed,  the  streams 
were  swollen  into  torrents,  and  the  houses 
of  the  presumptuous  silver-finders  were 
washed  away.  It  may  thus  be  seen  that 
the  Catskills  contain  treasures  of  gold 
and  silver  ore,  under  the  spell  of 

Woven  paces  and  waving  arms 

although  they  may  be.  The  guardian 
spirits  of  the  Kaatsbergs,  who  haunt  the 
mountains  and  rule  the  weather,  hang- 
ing new  moons  up  in  the  skies  and  thrift- 
ily cutting  up  the  old  ones  into  stars,  do 
not  so  easily  part  with  their  possessions. 
"  If  displeased,"  so  the  chronicle  runs, 
"the  spirit  will  brew  up  clouds  black  as 
ink,  sitting  in  the  midst  of  them  like  a 
pot-bellied  spider  in  the  midst  of  its  web, 
and  when  these  clouds  break"  woe  be- 
tide the  gold-seekers ! 

We  ought  to  feel  grateful  for  these 
little  touches  of  romance  which  have 
taken  shape  as  tradition  and  render 
the  Catskills  unlike  any  others  of  our 
mountains.  In  the  plain  daylight  of 
this  century  we  make  no  myths,  feel 
no  joyous  mountings  of  poetic  beliefs, 
but  search  curiously  and  coldly  into 


CATS  KILL   AND    THE   CATS  KILL   REGION. 


the  meanings  of  old-time  stories.  Thus 
the  Hudson  must  always  be  our  one  le- 
gendary river,  and  its  mountain -peaks 
and  ranges  will  be  haunted  by  the  spir- 
its that  once  peopled  the  beautiful  sol- 


itudes. One  cannot  help  hoping  that 
the  Catskills — isolated  as  they  are  from 
the  steady  march  of  progress  which  must 
go  on  developing  the  east  bank  of  the 
river  —  will  long  remain  a  little  aloof 


KAATERSKILL    FALLS. 


from  the  changes  and  improvements  of 
the  age ;  that  their  passes  will  continue 
to  open  infinite  vistas  of  silence  and  re- 
pose ;  that  their  desolate  gorges  will  be 
unlightened  of  their  mystery  and  gloom, 
and  the  streams  and  cascades  still  sing 
iheir  everlasting  song.  Mountains  should 


not  be  belittled  to  answer  practical  de- 
mands :  the  more  they  stir  the  wild  im- 
pulse, the  aerial  dream,  of  achieving 
heights  hitherto  unattempted,  the  better 
they  answer  our  need. 

Let  not  the  Catskills  be  made  more 
accessible :  they  are  accessible  enough. 


CATSKILL   AND    THE    CATSKILL   KEG  ION, 


We  want  no  railroads,  no  improved 
means  of  transportation,  to  transform 
pleasure  -  paths  and  byways  into  high- 
roads. The  old  lumbering  stage-coach 
was  the  vehicle  best  suited  to  the  moun- 


beauty,  and  each  turn  in  the  winding 
road  a  noticeable  incident. 


: 


ROAD  TO  MOUNTAIN   HOUSE. 

tain  -  roads.  The  traveller  by  coach, 
cramped,  crushed,  stifled,  wearied,  could 
then  be  easily  induced  to  stretch  his  fet- 
tered limbs  and  gain  relief  by  a  few 
hours'  tramp  along  the  roads.  It  is  in 
such  journeys  that  one  finds  rock  and 
fern  and  moss  and  tree -trunk  full  of 


Now-a-days,  "platform -wagons,"  as 
they  are  called,  are  rapidly  taking  the 
places  of  the  old  stage-coaches.     Owing 
to  the  superior  lightness  of  these  vehicles, 
distances  have  become  less  formidable 
and  mountain-ascents  less  fatiguing  than 
of  old.     Self-indulgent  men  and  women 
that  we  are,  there  is  some  comfort  in  an- 
nihilating a  few  of  the  long  hours  which 
used  to  measure  the  miles  between  the 
Hudson  and  the  various  places  of  sum- 
mer resort ;  yet  there  is  a  loss  in  it  all. 
The  old-fashioned  stage-coach  —  with  its 
cumbersome  wheels  and  its  brakes  and  its 
chains,  its  inside  passengers  stifled  by  the 
heat  and  closeness,  and  its  outside  pas- 
sengers blinded  by  the  glare  and  choked 
with  the  dust,  its  fatigues,  its  ennui,  its 
apathy,  its  hatred  of  the  conceited  bore 
of  an  old-fogy  passenger  who  remembers 
his  youthful  days  of  coaching,  and  gives  his  reminiscences 
with  a  view  to  lightening  the  dulness — has  its  compensa- 
tions.    A  man  escapes  from  it  with  a  wild  sense  of  eman- 
cipation and  a  rapt  consciousness  of  the  actual  beauties  of 
the  way,  which  become  the  leisurely  joy  of  the  traveller 
when  he  finds  his  own  feet,  and  no  longer  cheapens  the 

worth  of  his  journey 
by  the  jogging  mis- 
eries of  the  ride. 

At  any  time  of  the 
year  the  Catskills 
generously    reward 
the  pedestrian,  but  af- 
ter September  comes 
in  with  its  cool,  ex- 
hilarating mornings, 
October  with  its  fresh, 
dazzling  days,  there 
is  an   inspiration   in 
the   crisp   air  which 
would  render  the 
most    sluggish    man 
buoyant    with    high 
spirits   as  he  strides 
along  the  mountain- 
roads,  climbs  the  steeps,  and  gains  the 
view  from  the  heights  of  the  vast  undula- 
ting plains  below,  melting  into  blue  mists 
of  distance,  lit  up  by  gold  and  silver 
gleams  from  the  river.     It  is  then,  per- 
haps, that  we  find  the  Catskill  region- 
the  fairest. 


EKONIAH  SCRUB:  AMONG  FLORIDA  LAKES. 


THE  FORD. 


"  A  N  D  if  you  do  get  lost  after  that,  it's 
-tx  no  great  matter,"  said  the  county 
clerk,  folding  up  his  map,  "for  then  all 
you've  got  to  do  is  to  find  William  Town- 
send  and  inquire." 

He  had  been  giving  us  the  itinerary 
for  our  "cross-country  "  journey,  by  way 
of  the  Lakes,  to  Ekoniah  Scrub.  How 

5 


many  of  all  the  Florida  tourists  know 
where  that  is  ?  I  wonder.  Or  even  what 
it  is — the  strange  amphibious  land  which 
goes  on  from  year  to  year  "developing" — 
the  solid  ground  into  marshy  "  parrairas," 
the  prairies  into  lakes,  bright,  sparkling 
sapphires  which  Nature  is  threading,  one 
by  one,  year  by  year,  upon  her  emerald 

65 


66 


EKONIAH  SCRUB. 


chaplet  of  forest  borderland  ?  How  many 
of  them  all  have  guessed  that  close  at 
hand,  hidden  away  amid  the  shadows  of 
the  scrub-oaks,  lies  her  laboratory,  where 
any  day  they  may  steal  in  upon  her  at 
her  work  and  catch  a  world  a-making? 

There  are  three  individuals  who  know 
a  little  more  about  it  now  than  they  did 
a  few  weeks  since — three,  or  shall  we  not 
rather  say  four  ?  For  who  shall  say  that 
Barney  gained  less  from  the  excursion 
than  the  Artist,  the  Scribe  and  the  Small 
Boy  who  were  his  fellow-travellers  ?  That 
Barney  became  a  party  to  the  expedition 
in  the  character,  so  to  speak,  of  a  lay- 
brother,  expected  to  perform  the  servile 
labor  of  the  establishment  while  his  su- 
periors were  worshipping  at  Nature's 
shrines,  in  nowise  detracted  from  his  im- 
provement of  the  bright  spring  holiday. 
It  was,  indeed,  upon  the  Small  Boy  who 
beat  the  mule,  rather  than  upon  the  mule 
that  drew  the  wagon,  that  the  fatigues  of 
the  expedition  fell.  "He  just  glimpses 
around  at  me  with  his  old  eyeball,"  says 
the  Small  Boy,  exasperate,  throwing  away 
his  broken  cudgel,  "and  that's  all  the 
good  it  does." 

We  knew  nothing  more  of  Ekoniah 
when  we  set  out  upon  our  journey  than 
that  it  was  the  old  home  of  an  Indian 
tribe  in  the  long-ago  days  before  prime- 
val forest  had  given  place  to  the  second 
growth  of  "scrub,"  and  that  it  was  a  re- 
gion unknown  to  the  Northern  tourist. 
It  lies  to  the  south-west  of  Magnolia,  our 
point  of  departure  on  the  St.  John's  Riv- 
er, but  at  first  our  route  lay  westerly,  that 
it  might  include  the  lake-country  of  the 
Ridge. 

"  It's  a  pretty  kentry,"  said  a  friendly 
"  Cracker,"  of  whom,  despite  the  county 
clerk's  itinerary,  we  were  fain  to  ask  the 
way  within  two  hours  after  starting  — 
"  a  right  pretty  kentry,  but  it's  all  alike. 
You'll  be  tired  of  it  afore  you're  done 
gone  halfway." 

Is  he  blind,  our  friend  the  Cracker? 
Already,  in  the  very  outset  of  our  jour- 
ney, we  have  beheld  such  varied  beauties 
as  have  steeped  our  souls  in  joy.  After 
weeks  of  rainless  weather  the  morning 
had  been  showery,  and  on  our  setting 
forth  at  noon  we  had  found  the  world 


new  washed  and  decked  for  our  coming. 
Birds  were  singing,  rainbows  glancing, 
in  quivering,  water -laden  trees;  flowers 
were  shimmering  in  the  sunshine ;  the 
young  growth  was  springing  up  glorious 
from  the  blackness  of  desolating  winter 
fires.  Such  tender  tones  of  pink  and 
gray  !  such  fiery-hearted  reds  and  browns 
and  olive-greens !  such  misty  vagueness 
in  the  shadows !  such  brilliance  in  the 
sunlight  that  melted  through  the  open- 
ings of  the  woods!  "All  alike,"  indeed! 
No  "accidents  "  of  rock  or  hill  are  here, 
but  oh  the  grandeur  of  those  far-sweeping 
curves  of  undulating  surface !  the  mys- 
tery of  those  endless  aisles  of  solemn- 
whispering  pines !  the  glory  of  color,  in- 
tense and  fiery,  which  breathes  into  ev- 
ery object  a  throbbing,  living  soul ! 

For  hours  we  journeyed  through  the 
forest,  always  in  the  centre  of  a  vast  cir- 
cle of  scattered  pines,  upon  the  outer 
edge  of  which  the  trees  grew  dense  and 
dark,  stretching  away  into  infinity.  Our 
road  wandered  in  and  out  among  the 
prostrate  victims  of  many  a  summer  tem- 
pest: now  we  were  winding  around  dark 
"bays"  of  sweet -gum  and  magnolia; 
now  skirting  circular  ponds  of  delicate 
young  cypress ;  now  crossing  narrow 
"branches"  sunk  deep  in  impenetrable 
"hummocks"  of  close-crowded  oak  and 
ash  and  maple,  thick-matted  with  vines 
and  undergrowth ;  now  pausing  to  ga- 
ther orchis  and  pitcher-plants  and  sun- 
kisses  and  andromeda ;  now  fording  the 
broad  bend  of  Peter's  Creek  where  it 
flows,  sapphire  in  the  sunshine,  out  from 
the  moss-draped  live-oaks  between  high 
banks  of  red  and  yellow  clays  and  soft 
gray  sand,  to  lose  itself  in  a  tangle  of 
flowering  shrubs ;  now  losing  and  find- 
ing our  way  among  the  intricate  cross- 
roads that  lead  by  Bradley's  Creek  and 
Darbin  Savage's  tramway  and  the  "new- 
blazed  road"  of  the  county  clerk's  itine- 
rary. Suddenly  the  sky  grew  dark :  thun- 
der began  to  roll,  and — were  we  in  the 
right  road  ?  It  seemed  suspiciously  well 
travelled,  for  now  we  called  to  mind  that 
Middleburg  was  nigh  at  hand,  and  thith- 
er we  had  been  warned  not  to  go. 

There  was  a  house  in  the  distance,  the 
second  we  had  seen  since  leaving  the 


EKONIAH  SCRUB. 


67 


"  settle;#<?;z/.y  "  near  the  river.  And  there 
we  learned  that  we  were  right  and  wrong : 
it  was  the  Middleburg  road.  After  re- 
ceiving sundry  lucid  directions  respect- 
ing a  "  blind  road  "  and  an  "old  field,"  we 
turned  away.  How  dark  it  was  growing ! 
how  weirdly  soughed  the  wind  among  the 
pine  tops !  how  bodingly  the  thunder 
growled  afar !  There  came  a  great  slow 
drop :  another,  and  suddenly,  with  swift- 
ly-rushing sound,  the  rain  was  upon  us, 
drenching  us  all  at  once  before  water- 
proofs and  umbrellas  could  be  made 
available. 

It  was  then  that  Barney  showed  the 
greatness  of  his  soul.     In  the  confusion 


of  the  moment  we  had  run  afoul  of  a 
stout  young  oak,  which  obstinately  men- 
aced the  integrity  of  our  axle.  It  .was 
only  possible  to  back  out  of  the  predica- 
ment, but  Barney  scorned  the  thought  of 
retreat.  Not  all  the  blandishments  of  the 
Small  Boy,  whether  brought  to  bear  in 
the  form  of  entreaties,  remonstrances, 
jerks  or  threats,  availed :  Barney  stood 
unmoved,  and  the  hatchet  was  our  only 
resource.  How  that  mule's  eye  twinkled 
as  from  time  to  time  he  cast  a  backward 
glance  upon  the  Small  Boy  wrestling  with 
a  dull  hatchet  and  a  sturdy  young  scrub- 
oak  under  the  pelting  rain,  amid  lightning- 
flash  and  thunder-peal,  needs  a  more 


NOT  ALL  THE  BLANDISHMENTS   OF  THE  SMALL  BOY   AVAILED." 


graphic  pen  than  mine  to  describe.  A 
better-drenched  biped  than  climbed  into 
the  wagon  at  the  close  of  this  episode,  or 
a  more  thoroughly -satisfied  quadruped 
than  jogged  along  before  him,  it  would  be 
difficult  to  find. 

As  suddenly  as  they  had  come  up  the 
clouds  rolled  away,  and  sunlight  flamed 
out  from  the  west — so  suddenly  that  it 
caught  the  rain  halfway  and  filled  the 
air  with  tremulous  rainbow  hues.  Then 
burst  out  afresh  the  songs  of  birds,  sweet 
scents  thrilled  up  from  flower  and  shrub, 


the  very  earth  was  fragrant,  and  fresh, 
resinous  odors  exhaled  from  every  tree. 
The  sun  sank  down  in  gold  and  purple 
glory  and  night  swept  over  the  dark  woods. 
Myriad  fireflies  flitted  round,  insects  chirp- 
ed in  every  hollow,  the  whippoorwill  call- 
ed from  the  distant  thicket,  the  night- 
hawk  circled  in  the  open  glade.  A  cheer- 
ful sound  of  cow-bells  broke  the  noisy 
stillness,  the  forest  opened  upon  a  row  of 
dark  buildings  and  darker  orange  trees, 
and  barking  of  dogs  and  kindly  voices 
told  us  that  rest  was  at  hand. 


68 


EKONIAH  SCRUB. 


No  words  can  do  justice  to  the  hospital- 
ity of  Floridians,  whether  native  or  for- 
eign. We  were  now  to  begin  an  expe- 
rience which  was  to  last  us  through  our 
entire  journey.  Here  we  were,  a  wander- 
ing company  of  who-knows-what,  arriv- 
ing hungry,  drenched  and  unexpected 
long  after  the  supper-hour,  and  our  mere 
appearance  was  the  "open  sesame"  to 
all  the  treasures  of  house  and  barn.  Not 
knowing  what  our  hap  might  be,  we  had 
gone  provided  with  blankets  and  food, 
but  both  proved  to  be  superfluous  wher- 
ever we  could  find  a  house.  Bad  might 
be  the  best  it  afforded,  but  the  best  was 

at  our  service.  At  K 's  Ferry  it  was 

decidedly  not  bad.  Abundance  reigned 
there,  though  in  a  quaint  old  fashion,  and 
very  soon  after  our  arrival  we  were  warm- 
ing and  drying  ourselves  before  a  cheer- 
ful fire,  while  from  the  kitchen  came 
most  heartening  sounds  and  smells,  as 
of  fizzling  ham  and  bubbling  coffee. 

Never  was  seen  a  prettier  place  than 
this  as  we  beheld  it  by  the  morrow's  light. 
The  house  stands  on  a  high  bluff,  worthy 
the  name  of  hill,  which  slopes  steeply  but 
greenly  down  to  the  South  Prong  of  Black 
Creek,  better  deserving  the  name  of  riv- 
er than  many  a  stream  which  boasts  the 
designation.  We  crossed  it  upon  a  boom, 
pausing  midway  in  sudden  astonishment 
at  the  lovely  view.  A  long  reach  of  ex- 
quisitely pure  water,  bordered  by  the 
dense  overhanging  foliage  of  its  high 
banks,  stretched  away  to  where,  a  mile 
below  us,  a  sudden  bend  hid  its  lower 
course  from  view,  and  on  the  high  green 
bluff  which  closed  the  vista  were  seen 
the  white  house  and  venerable  overarch- 
ing trees  of  some  old  estate.  The  morn- 
ing air  was  crisp  and  pure ;  every  leaf 
and  twig  stood  out  with  clean-cut  distinct- 
ness, to  be  mirrored  with  startling  clear- 
ness in  the  stream ;  the  sky  was  cloud- 
less :  no  greater  contrast  could  be  imag- 
ined from  the  tender  sweetness  of  yester- 
day. The  birds,  exhilarated  by  the  sparkle 
in  the  air,  sang  with  a  rollicking  abandon- 
ment quite  contagious :  the  very  kids  and 
goats  on  the  crags  above  the  road  caught 
the  infection  and  frisked  about,  tinkling 
their  bells  and  joining  most  unmelodious- 
ly  in  the  song;  while  Barney,  crossing 


the  creek  upon  a  flatboat,  lifted  up  a  tune- 
ful voice  in  the  chorus. 

We  turned  aside  from  our  route  to  visit 
Whitesville,  the  beautiful  old  home  of 
Judge  B .  It  is  a  noble  great  man- 
sion, with  broad  double  doors  opening 
from  every  side  of  a  wide  hall,  and  stand- 
ing in  the  midst  of  a  wild  garden  luxuri- 
ant with  flowers  and  shrubs  and  vines, 
and  with  a  magnificent  ivy  climbing  to 
the  top  of  a  tall  blasted  tree  at  the  gate. 
"  I  came  to  this  place  from  New  Haven 
in  "29,"  its  owner  told  us — "sailed  from 
New  York  to  Darien,  Georgia,  in  a  sloop, 
and  from  there  in  a  sail-boat  to  this  very 
spot.  I  prospected  all  about :  bought  a 
little  pony,  and  rode  him — well,  five  thou- 
sand miles  after  I  began  to  keep  count. 
Finally,  I  came  back  and  settled  here." 

"Were  you  never  troubled  by  Indians  ?" 
we  asked. 

"Well,  they  put  a  fort  here  in  the  Indian 
war,  the  government  did — right  here, 
where  you  see  the  china  trees."  It  was 
a  beautiful  green  slope  beside  the  house, 
with  five  great  pride-of-Indias  in  a  row 
and  a  glimpse  of  the  creek  through  the 
thickets  at  the  foot.  "  There  never  was 
any  engagement  here,  though.  The  In- 
dians had  a  camp  over  there  at  K 's, 

where  you  came  from,  but  they  all  went 
away  to  the  Nation  after  a  while." 

"  Did  you  stay  here  through  the  civil 
war?" 

"  Oh  yes.  I  never  took  any  part  in  the 
troubles,  but  the  folks  all  suspected  and 
watched  me.  They  knew  I  was  a  Union 
man.  One  day  a  Federal  regiment  came 
along  and  wanted  to  buy  corn  and  fod- 
der. The  men  drew  up  on  the  green, 
and  the  colonel  rode  up  to  the  door. 
'  Colonel,'  says  I,  '  I  can't  sell  you  any- 
thing, but  I  believe  the  keys  are  in  the 
corn-barn  and  stable  doors :  I  can't  hin- 
der your  taking  anything  by  force.'  He 
understood,  and  took  pretty  well  what  he 
wanted.  Afterward  he  came  and  urged 
me  to  take  a  voucher,  but  I  wouldn't  do 
that.  By  and  by  the  Confederates  came 
around  and  accused  me  of  selling  to  the 
Federals,  but  they  couldn't  prove  any- 
thing against  me." 

"There  used  to  be  Confederate  head- 
quarters up  there  at  K 's  ?"  we  asked. 


EKONIAH  SCRUB. 


69 


"  Oh  yes,  and  the  Federals  had  it  too. 
General  Birney  was  there  for  a  while. 
One  day,  just  after  he  came,  a  lot  of  'em 
came  over  here.  One  of  my  boys  was 
lying  very  sick  in  that  front  chamber  just 
then — the  one  you  know,  the  county  clerk. 
Well,  an  orderly  rode  up  to  the  door  and 
called  out, '  Here,  you  damned  old  rebel, 
the  general  wants  you.' — '  I  don't  answer 
to  that  name,'  said  I. — '  You  don't  ?' — '  No, 
I  don't.' — '  What !  ain't  you  a  rebel  ?' — '  I 
don't  answer  to  that  name,'  said  I.  — 
4  Well,  consider  yourself  my  prisoner,.' 


says  he ;  so  I  walked  up  there  with  him. 
Judge  Price  was  at  head- quarters  just 
then,  and  he  knew  me  well.  It  seems 
that  the  general  had  heard  that  I  kept  a 
regular  rebel  commissariat,  sending  stores 
to  them  secretly.  Well,  when  the  judge 
had  told  him  who  I  was,  the  general  wrote 
me  a  pass  at  once,  and  then  asked,  '  Is 
there  anything  I  can  do  for  you  ?' — '  Gen- 
eral,' said  I,  '  my  son  lies  very  sick.  I 
should  like  to  see  the  last  of  him',  and 
beg  to  be  permitted  to  retire.'—'  Is  that 
so  ?'  said  the  general.  '  Would  you  like 


LAKE   BEDFORD. 


me  to  send  you  a  doctor?'  I  accepted, 
and  he  sent  me  two.  He  came  up  after- 
ward, and  found  that  his  men  had  torn 
down  the  fences,  broken  open  the  store 
and  dragged  out  goods,  set  the  oil  and 
molasses  running,  and  done  great  dam- 
age— about  four  thousand  dollars'  worth, 
we  estimated.  You  see,  they  thought  it 
was  a  rebel  commissariat.  When  he 
came  into  the  house  he  asked  my  wife 
if  she  could  give  him  supper.  '  General,' 
said  she,  '  you  have  taken  away  my 
cooks :  if  you  will  send  for  your  own,  I 
shall  be  very  happy  to  get  supper  for 
you.'  He  did  so,  and  spent  the  night 
here,  sleeping  in  one  of  the  chambers 
while  his  officers  lay  all  over  the  piazzas. 
Next  day  they  all  rode  away,  quite  satis- 
fied, I  guess.  There  were  several  skir- 
mishes about  here  afterward,  and  we 
have  some  pieces  of  bombs  in  the  house 
now  that  fell  in  the  yard." 


The  judge  pressed  us  to  stay  ana  chne, 
but  we  had  arranged  for  a  gypsy  dinner 
in  the  woods  and  were  anxious  to  push 
on.  Push  on  !  How  Barney  would  smile 
could  he  hear  the  word !  He  never  did 
anything  half  so  energetic  as  to  push  :  he 
did  not  even  pull. 

So  we  bade  farewell  to  our  genial  host 
and  started  westwardly  again.  We  were 
now  upon  the  high  land  of  the  Ridge, 
the  backbone  of  the  State,  and  though, 
perhaps,  hardly  ninety  feet  above  the  sea, 
the  air  had  all  the  exhilarating  freshness 
of  great  altitudes.  All  through  the  week 
which  followed  we  felt  its  tonic  inspira- 
tion and  seemed  to  drink  in  intoxicating 
draughts  of  health  and  spirits,  and  nevei 
more  than  during  the  fifteen-mile  drive 
between  Black  Creek  and  Kingsley's 
Pond. 

Kingsley's  Pond,  the  highest  body  of 
water  in  the  State,  is  the  first  of  a  long 


7o 


EKONIAH  SCRUB. 


succession  of  lakes  which,  lying  between 
the  St.  John's  and  the  railway,  have  only 
lately  been,  as  it  were,  discovered  by  the 
Northerner.  It  is  perfectly  circular  in 
form,  being  precisely  two  miles  across 
in  every  direction.  Like  all  the  lakes  of 
Florida,  it  is  of  immense  depth,  and  its 
waters  are  so  transparent  that  the  white 
sand  at  the  bottom  may  be  seen  glisten- 
ing like  stars.  In  common  with  the  oth- 
er waters  of  this  region,  it  is  surrounded 
by  a  hard  beach  of  white  sand,  rising 
gradually  up  to  a  beautifully  -  wooded 
slope,  being  quite  free  from  the  marshes 
which  too  often  render  the  lakes  of  Flor- 
ida unapproachable. 

One  of  the  Northern  colonies  which 
within  the  last  two  years  have  discovered 
this  delightful  region  has  settled  on  the 
shores  of  Kingsley's  Pond.  Although  an 
infant  of  only  twenty  months,  the  village 
has  made  excellent  growth  and  gives 
promise  of  a  bright  future.  Farming  is 
not  largely  followed,  the  principal  indus- 
try of  these  and  the  other  Northern  col- 
onists being  orange-culture  —  a  business 
to  which  the  climate  is  wonderfully  pro- 
pitious, the  dry,  pure  air  of  this  district 
being  alike  free  from  excessive  summer 
heats  and  from  the  frosts  which  are  occa- 
sionally disastrous  to  groves  situated  on 
lower  ground  in  the  same  latitude. 

Though  there  are  few  native  Floridians 
in  this  part  of  the  country,  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  lake  rejoices  in  the  possession 
of  a  Cracker  doctress  of  wondrous  pow- 
ers. Who  but  her  knows  that  chapter  in 
the  book  of  Daniel  the  reading  of  which 
stays  the  flowing  of  blood,  or  that  other 
chapter  potent  to  extinguish  forest-fires  ? 
One  does  not  need  a  long  residence  in 
the  State  to  learn  to  appreciate  the  good- 
fortune  of  the  Lakers  in  this  particular. 

Not  far  from  the  village,  on  the  western 
shore  of  the  pond,  lives  the  one  "old  set- 
tler." He  met  us  with  the  hearty  welcome 
which  we  had  learned  almost  to  look  for 
as  a  right,  and  sitting  on  his  front  piazza 
in  the  shade  of  his  orange  trees,  gladden- 
ing our  eyes  with  the  view  of  his  vine- 
embowered  pigpen,  we  listened  to  the 
legend  of  the  pond : 

"Yes,  I've  lived  yere  four-and-twenty 
year,  but  I  done  kim  to  Floridy  nigh  on 


forty  year  ago :  walked  yere  from  Georgy 
to  jine  the  Injun  war.  I  done  found  this 
place  a-scoutin'  about,  and  when  I  got 
married  I  kim  yere  to  settle.  The  Yankee 
folks  wants  to  change  the  name  o'  the 
pond  to  Summit  Lake  and  one  thing  or 
'nother,  but  I  allays  votes  square  agin  it 
every  time,  and  allays  will.  You  see,  hit 
don't  ought  to  be  changed.  I  don't  mind 
the  pond  part :  they  m  ought  call  it  lake 
ef  they  think  it  sounds  better,  but  Kings- 
ley's  it  ^<M  to  be.  K-i-n-g-1-e-s-l-e-y  :  that, 
I  take  it,  is  the  prompt  way  to  spell  the 
name  of  the  man  as  named  it,  and  that's 
the  name  it  has  to  have.  You  see  hit  was 
this  a-way :  Kingsley  were  a  mail-rider — 
leastways,  express — in  the  old  Injun  war- 
time, I  dunno  how  long  ago.  They  was 
a  fort  on  the  pond  them  days,  over  on 
the  south  side.  Wai,  Kingsley  were  a- 
comin'  down  toward  the  fort  from  the 
no'th  when  he  thort  he  see  an  Injun.  He 
looked  behind,  and,  sure  enough,  there 
they  was,  a-closin'  in  on  him.  He  look- 
ed ahead  agin.  Shore's  you're  bo'hn 
there  was  a  double  row  on  'em — better'n 
a  hunderd — on  all  two  sides  of  the  trail. 
He  hadn't  a  minit  to  study,  and  jist  one 
thing  to  do,  and  he  done  hit.  He  jist 
clapped  spurs  to  his  critter  and  made  for 
the  pond.  He  knowed  what  they  wanted 
of  him  " — confidentially  and  solemnly : 
"it  were  their  intention  to  ketch  him  and 
scalp  him  alive,  you  know.  Wai,  they 
follered  him  to  the  pond,  a-whoopin'  and 
a-yellin'  all  the  way,  makin'  shore  on  him. 
When  he  got  to  the  pond  he  rid  right  in, 
the  Injuns  a'ter  him,  but  his  critter  soon 
began  to  gin  out.  When  he  see  that  he 
jist  gethered  up  his  kit  and  jumped  into 
the  water,  and  swum  for  dear  life.  Two 
mile  good  that  feller  swum,  and  saved 
his  kit  and  musket.  The  Injuns  got  his 
critter,  but  you  never  see  nothin'  so  mad 
as  they  was  to  see  him  git  off  that  a-way. 
The  soldiers  at  the  fort  was  a-watchin'  all 
the  time.  They  run  down  to  meet  him  : 
they  see  he  looked  kinder  foolish  as  he 
swum  in,  and  as  soon  as  he  struck  the 
shore  he  jist  flung  himself  on  the  sand, 
and  laid  for  half  an  hour  athout  openin' 
his  eyes  or  speakin'.  Then  he  done  riz 
right  up  and  toted  his  kit  to  the  command- 
er, and  axed  to  hev  the  pond  named  a'ter 


EKONIAH  SCRUB. 


him.  The  commander  said  it  mought 
be  so,  and  so  hit  was ;  and  so  it  has  to 
be,  I  says,  and  allays  will." 

It  would  be  impossible  to  detail  the 
exquisite  and  varied  beauty  of  the  way 
between  Kingsley's  Pond  and  Ekoniah 
Scrub.  Through  the  fair  primeval  forest 
we  wandered,  following  the  old  Alachua 
Trail,  the  very  name  of  which  enhanced 
the  charm  of  the  present  scene  by  calling 
up  thrilling  fancies  of  the  past ;  for  this 
is  the  famous  Indian  war-path  from  the 
hunting-grounds  of  the  interior  to  the  set- 
tlements on  the  frontier,  and  may  well  be 
the  oldest  and  the  most  adventure-fraught 
thoroughfare  in  the  United  States.  We 


could  hardly  persuade  ourselves  that 
we  were  not  passing  through  some 
magnificent  old  estate — of  late,  per- 
haps, somewhat  fallen  into  neglect — so 
perfect  was  the  lawn-like  smoothness 
of  the  grassy  uplands,  so  rhythmical 
were  the  undulations  of  the  slopes,  so 
majestic  the  natural  avenues  of  enor- 
mous oaks,  so  admirable  the  diversity 
of  hill  and  dell,  knoll  and  glade,  shrub- 
bery and  lawn,  forest  and  park,  inter- 
spersed with  frequent  sheets  of  water — 
Blue  Pond,  rivalling  the  sky  in  color ; 
Sandhill  Pond,  deep  set  among  high 
wooded  slopes,  with  picturesque  log  mill 
and  house ;  Magnolia  Lake,  with  its  flaw- 
less mirror;  Crystal,  of  more  than  crys- 
tal clearness,  with  gorgeous  sunset  mem- 
ories and  sweet  recollections  of  kindly 
hospitalities  in  the  two  homes  which 
crown  its  twin  heights ;  Bedford  and 
Brooklyn  Lakes,  with  log  cottages  be- 
neath clustering  trees ;  Minnie  Lake,  and 
its  great  alligator  sleeping  on  a  log ;  star- 
ry Lily-Pad ;  and  Osceola's  Punch-bowl, 
deep  enough,  and  none  too  large,  to  hold 
the  potations  of  a  Worthy ;  Twin  Lakes, 
scarce  divided  by  the  island  in  their  midst ; 
Double  Pond,  low  sunk  in  the  green  for- 
est slope,  a  perfect  circle  bisected  by  a 


EKONIAH  SCRUB. 


wooded  ridge ;  Geneva  Lake,  dotted  with 
islands  and  beautiful  with  shining  orange- 
groves  ; — always  among  the  lawns  and 
glades,  the  forest -slopes  and  aisles  of 
pines,  with  sough  of  wind  and  song  of 
bird,  and  fragrant  wild  perfumes.  Always 
with  bright  "bits"  of  life  between  the 
long,  grand  silences  —  a  group  of  men 
faring  on  foot  across  the  pine  level ;  a 
rosy,  bareheaded  girl — the  only  girl  in 
the  place — searching  for  calves  in  the 
dingle,  who  gave  us  flowers  and  told  us 
the  road  with  the  sweet,  lingering  cadence 
of  the  South  in  her  velvet  voice;  two 
men  riding  by  turns*  the  mule  that  bore 
their  sacks  of  corn  to  mill ;  two  boys  car- 
rying a  great  cross-cut  saw  along  a  slo- 
ping lakeside,  a  noble  Newfoundland  dog 
frisking  beside  them ;  the  fleet  bay  horse 
and  erect  military  figure  of  our  host  at 
Crystal  Lake  guiding  us  among  the  in- 
tricacies of  the  Lake  Colony.  Always 
with  sunny  memories  of  happy  hours — 
gypsy  dinners  beside  golden  -  watered 
"branch"  or  sapphire  lake;  the  cheery 
half  hour  in  the  log  house  on  the  hill 
above  the  little  grist-mill,  with  the  bright 
young  Philadelphians  who  have  here  cast 
in  their  lot ;  the  abundant  feast  in  the 
farm-house  under  the  orange  trees,  and 
the  "old-time"  stories  of  the  after-dinner 
hour ;  the  pleasant  days  at  Crystal  Lake, 
where  our  first  day's  drenching  resulted 
so  happily  in  a  slight  illness  that  detain- 
ed us  in  that  lovely  spot,  and  showed  us, 
in  the  new  colony  lately  settled  on  this 
and  the  adjacent  lakes,  how  refinement 
and  cultivation,  lending  elegance  to  rude 
toil  and  harsh  privation,  may  realize  even 
Utopian  dreams. 

The  great  farm  on  Geneva  Lake  was 
the  first  old  plantation  which  we  had 
seen  since  leaving  Kingsley's,  and  this 
lies  on  the  outskirts  of  Ekoniah  Scrub, 
which  has  long  been  settled  by  native 
Floridians  or  Georgians.  "Hit  ain't  a 
farmin'  kentry,  above  there  on  the  sand- 
hills," said  our  host  of  the  thrifty  old  farm 
on  Lake  Geneva.  "  It's  fine  for  oranges 
an'  bananas,  but  the  Scrub's  better  for 
plantin'.  Talk  about  oranges  !  Look  a' 
that  tree  afore  you !  A  sour  tree  hit  were 
— right  smart  big,  too— but  four  year  ago 
I  sawed  it  off  near  the  ground  and  stuck 


in  five  buds.  That  tree  is  done  borne 
three  craps  a' ready — fifteen  oranges  the 
second  year  from  the  bud,  a  hundred  and 
fifty  the  third,  and  last  year  we  picked 
eight  hundred  off  her.  Seedlin's  ?  Any- 
body mought  hev  fruit  seven  year  from 
the  seed,  but  they  must  take  care  o'  the 
trees  to  do  it.  Look  a'  them  trees  by  the 
fence :  eight  year  old,  them  is.  Some  of 
'em  bore  the  sixth  year :  every  one  on  'em 
is  sot  full  now  —  full  enough  for  young 
trees. 

"Yes,  that's  right  smart  good  orange- 
land  up  there  in  the  sandhills.  Forty 
year  ago,  when  I  kim  yere,  they  was 
nothin'  but  wild  critters  in  that  lake  ken- 
try,  as  the  Yankee  folks  calls  it :  all  kind 
o'  varmints  they  was — bears,  tigers,  pan- 
thers, cats  and  all  kinds.  Right  smart 
huntin'  they  was,  and  'tain't  so  bad  now. 
They's  rabbits  and  'coons  and  'possums, 
sure  enough,  and  deer  too;  and —  Cats  ? 
Why,  cats  is  plenty,  but  they  ain't  no 
'count. 

"I  niver  hunted  much  myself,  but  I've 
heerd  an  old  man  tell — Higgins  by  name. 
Ef  you  could  find  him  and  could  get  him 
right,  he'd  tell  you  right  smart  o'  stories 
about  varmints,  and  Injuns  too.  I've 
heerd  him  tell  how  he  went  out  with  some 
puppies  one  time  to  larn  'em  to  hunt  bear. 
He  heerd  one  o'  the  puppies  a-screechin,' 
and  kase  he  didn't  want  to  lose  him  he 
run  up.  The  screechin'  come  from  a 
sort  o'  scrub,  and  he  got  clost  up  afore  he 
see  it  was  a  she-bear  and  two  cubs.  The 
bear  had  the  puppy,  but  when  she  see 
Higgins  she  dropped  hit  and  made  for 
him.  Now,  you  know,  a  bear  ain't  like 
no  varmint  nor  cow-beast:  hit  don't  go 
'round  under  the  trees,  but  jest  makes  a 
road  for  itself  over  the  scrub.  Higgins 
hadn't  no  time  to  take  aim,  and  ef  he'd 
'a  missed  he  was  gone,  sure  'nough ;  so 
he  jest  drawred  his  knife,  and  when  she 
riz  up  to  clutch  him  he  stuck  her  plum  in 
the  heart.  Killed  her,  dead. 

"  No,  I  never  had  no  trouble  with  In- 
juns. They  was  all  gone  to  the  Nation 
when  I  settled  yere,  but  I  see  Billy  Bow- 
legs  onct,  and  Jumper,  too.  I  was  ago- 
in'  through  the  woods,  and  I  met  a  keert 
with  three  men  in  it.  Two  on  'em  was  kind- 
er dark-lookin',  but  I  never  thort  much 


EKONIAH  SCRUB. 


73 


of  that  till  the  man  that  was 
drivin'  stopped  and  axed  me 
ef  I  knowed  who  he  had  in  be- 
hind. It  was  them  two  chiefs, 
sure  'nough :  right  good-look- 
in'  fellers  they  was,  too." 

We  had  left  the  sandhills  of 
the  Ridge,  and  had  reached  the 
borders  of  the  Scrub,  but  there 
was  yet  another  of  the  new 
Northern  settlements  to  visit. 
It  lay  a  few  miles  beyond  Ge- 
neva Lake,  in  the  flat  woods  to 
the  south  of  Santa  Fe  Lake,  the 
largest  and  best  known  of  the 
group. 

Who  does  not  know  the 
dreary  flat-woods  villages  of 
the  South,  with  their  decaying 
log  cabins  and  hopelessly  un- 
finished frame  houses  —  with 
their  white  roads,  ankle-deep 
in  sand,  wandering  disconso- 
lately among  fallen  trees  and 
palmetto  scrub  and  blacken- 
ed stumps  ?  Melrose  is  like 
them  all,  but  with  a  difference. 
The  decaying  cabins,  new  two 
years  ago,  are  deserted  in  fa- 
vor of  the  great  frame  houses, 
which,  unfinished  indeed,  have 
yet  a  determined  air,  as  if  they 
meant  to  be  finished  some  day. 
The  sandy  roads  are  alive  with 
long  trains  of  heavy  log-trucks 
or  lighter  freight-wagons ;  there 
are  men  actually  buying  things 
in  the  three  stores ;  there  is  a 
school,  with  live  children  play- 
ing before  the  door ;  there  are 
saw-  and  grist-mills  buzzing 
noisily;  there  is  a  post-office, 
which  connects  us  with  the  out- 
er world  as  we  receive  our  wait- 
ing letters ;  there  is  a  stir  of  en- 
terprise in  the  air  which  speaks 
quite  plainly  of  Chicago  and 
the  Northern  States,  whence 
have  come  the  colonists  ;  there 
is  talk  of  a  railroad  to  the  St. 
John's  on  the  east,  and  of  a 
canal  which  shall  connect  the 
lakes  with  one  another  and  with 
the  railway  on  the, west;  there 


74 


EKONIAH  SCRUB. 


is  a  really  good  hotel,  where  we  spend 
the  night  in  unanticipated  luxury  upon  a 
breezy  eminence  overlooking  the  silver 
sheet  of  Santa  Fe  Lake,  which  stretches 
away  for  miles  to  the  north  and  eastward. 

The  morrow  was  almost  spent  while 
we  lingered  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
lake.  The  road  makes  a  wide  circuit  to 
avoid  its  far-reaching  arms  and  bays: 
only  here  and  there  are  glimpses  of  the 
water  seen  through  the  trees  and  cart- 
tracks  -leading  off  to  exquisite  points  of 
view  upon  its  banks.  We  are  in  the  flat 
woods  again — palmetto-clumps  under  the 
pine  trees,  pitcher -plants  and  orchis  in 
the  low  spots,  violets  and  pinguicula 
beside  the  ditches,  vetches  and  lupines 
and  pawpaw  and  the  trailing  mimosa  in 
the  sand.  The  park-like  character  of  the 
woods  is  gone.  Still,  there  are  here  and 
there  gentle  undulations  upon  which  the 
long  lines  of  western  sunlight  slope  away; 
the  lake  gleams  silvery  through  the  trees ; 
the  air  is  pure  and  sparkling  as  in  high 
altitudes. 

It  was  evening  before  we  could  leave 
the  lakeside  and  plunge  into  the  dense 
new  growth  which  adds  to  the  ancient 
name  of  Ekoniah  the  modern  appella- 
tion of  "Scrub."  Amid  its  close-crowd- 
ing thickets  night  came  upon  us  speedily. 
How  hospitably  we  were  received  in  the 

bare  new  "  homestead ' '  of  Parson  H ; 

how  generously  our  hosts  relinquished 
their  one  "barred"  bed  and  passed  a 
night  of  horror  exposed  to  the  fury  of 
myriad  mosquitos,  whose  songs  of  tri- 
umph we  heard  from  our  own  protected 
pillows ;  how  basely  Barney  requited  all 
this  kindness  by  breaking  into  the  corn- 
crib  and  "stuffing  himself  as  full  as  a 
sausage,"  as  the  Small  Boy  reported, — 
may  not  here  be  dwelt  upon. 

The  early  morning  was  exquisite.  Soft 
mists  veiled  all  the  glorious  colors  ;  great 
spider-webs,  strung  thick  with  diamonds, 
stretched  from  tree  to  tree ;  a  little  "pot- 
hole "  pond  of  lilies  exhaled  sweet  odors ; 
the  lark's  ecstatic  song  thrilled  down  from 
upper  air.  There  was  a  gentle  hill  before 
us,  and  halfway  up  a  view  to  the  right  of 
a  broad  lake,  with  the  log  huts  of  a  "  set- 
tle»^«/"  on  the  high  bank.  The  sun 
has  drunk  up  all  the  mists,  and  shines 


bright  upon  the  soft  gray  satin  of  the  gir- 
dled pine  trees  in  the  clearing ;  flowers 
are  crowding  everywhere — orange  milk- 
weed, purple  phlox,  creamy  pawpaw, 
azure  bluebells,  spotted  foxgloves,  rose- 
tinted  daisies,  brown-eyed  coreopsias  and 
unknown  flowers  of  palest  blue.  But- 
terflies flit  noiselessly  among  them,  and 
mocking-birds  sing  loud  in  the  leafy 
screens  above.  A  red-headed  woodpecker 
taps  upon  a  resounding  tree  and  screams 
in  exultation  as  he  seizes  his  prey. 

We  skirted  Viola  Lake,  cresting  the 
high  hill,  and  descending  to  a  shaded 
valley  where  the  lapping  waters  plashed 
upon  the  roadside :  then  mounted  anoth- 
er hill,  among  thick  clustering  oaks  and 
giant  pines,  to  where  three  lakes  are  seen 
spreading  broadly  out  upon  a  grassy  plain 
between  high  wooded  slopes.  And  these 
are  Ekoniah !  Twenty  years  ago  a  tiny 
rivulet,  wandering  through  broad  prai- 
ries ;  eight  years  later  a  wider  stream, 
already  beginning  to  encroach  upon  the 
grassy  borderland  ;  now  a  chain  of  ever- 
broadening  lakes,  already  drawing  near 
to  the  hills  which  frame  in  the  widespread 
plain.  Famous  grazing-lands  these  were 
once,  the  favored  haunts  of  cattle-drovers, 
more  famous  hunting-grounds  in  older 
days,  before  firm  prairie  had  given  place 
to  watery  savanna.  There  were  Indian  vil- 
lages upon  the  heights  above  and  bloody 
battles  in  the  plains  below.  But  who  shall 
tell  the  story  of  those  days  ?  The  Indians 
are  gone ;  the  cattle-drovers  have  follow- 
etl  them  to  the  far  South  ;  the  new  settler 
of  twenty  years  ago  cared  nothing  for  an- 
tiquities or  for  the  legends  of  an  older 
time.  The  dead  past  is  buried :  even  the 
sonorous  old  Indian  name  has  been  soft- 
ened down  to  Etonia :  be  it  the  happy 
lot  of  this  chronicler  to  rescue  it  from 
oblivion ! 

The  lakes  of  the  lately-traversed  "  Lake 
Region,"  frequent  as  they  had  been,  were 
as  nothing  to  those  of  Ekoniah  Scrub. 
The  road  rose  and  fell  over  a  succession 
of  low  hills,  each  ascent  gained  discover- 
ing a  new  sheet  of  water  to  right,  to  left 
or  before  us,  deep  sunk  among  thick- 
clustering  trees.  At  rare  intervals  the 
forest  would  fall  away  on  either  hand, 
opening  up  a  wide  view  of  cultivated 


EKONIAH  SCRUB. 


75 


fields,  sweeping  grandly  down  in  long 
stripes  of  tender  green  to  the  billowy 
verdure  of  the  broad  savanna,  where 
silvery-sparkling  lakes  lay  imbedded  and 
great  round  "hummocks"  of  dark  trees 
uprose  like  islands  in  the  grassy  sea.  In 
the  distance  would  be  barren  slopes  of 
rich  dark  red  and  silvery  gray,  swelling 
upward  to  the  far  dim  mystery  of  pine 
woods  and  the  blue  arch  above. 

We  ate  our  dinner  beside  Lake  Rosa, 
a  circular  basin  of  clearest  water  rippling 
and  dimpling  under  the  soft  breeze.  To- 
ward evening  we  found  the  ford,  which  a 
paralytic  old  woman  sitting  in  a  sunny 
corner  of  a  farm-house  piazza  had  in- 
dicated to  us  as  "  right  pretty."  Pretty 
it  was,  indeed,  as  we  came  down  to  it 
through  the  most  luxuriant  of  hummocks 
of  transparent-foliaged  sweet-gums  and 
shining-leaved  magnolias  with  one  great 
creamy  flower.  "  Right  pretty  "  it  was, 
too,  in  the  old  woman's  meaning  of  the 
word,  for  Barney  drew  us  through  in 
safety,  scarce  up  to  his  knees  in  the  trans- 
parent water  which  reflected  so  perfectly 
every  flower  and  leaf  of  the  dense  water- 
growth.  The  road  beyond  was  cut  through 
an  arch  of  close-meeting  trees,  and  farther 
on  it  skirted  a  broad  lake,  which  already, 
in  its  slow,  sure,  upward  progress,  had 
covered  the  roadway  and  was  reaching 
even  to  the  fence  which  bounds  the  field 
above.  In  this  field  is  a  large  mound, 
never  investigated,  although  the  farmer 
who  owns  the  property  says  he  has.no 
doubt  that  it  is  the  site  of  an  Indian  vil- 
lage, for  the  plough  turns  up  in  the  fields 
around  not  only  arrow-heads,  but  frag- 
ments of  pottery  and  household  utensils. 
It  was  not  our  good-fortune  to  obtain  any 
of  those  relics,  as  they  have  not  been  pre- 
served, and  this  was  the  only  mound  of 
any  extent  which  we  saw.  Such  mounds 
are  said,  however,  to  be  not  infrequent  in 
this  district,  and  Indian  relics  are  found 
everywhere. 

As  we  drove  along  the  hillside  we  be- 
gan to  notice  frequent  basin-like  depres- 
sions of  greater  or  less  size,  always  perfect- 
ly circular,  always  with  the  same  saucer- 
shaped  dip,  always  without  crack  or  fis- 
sure, yet  appearing  to  have  been  formed 
by  a  gradual  receding  of  the  substructure, 


reminding  one  of  the  depression  in  the 
sand  of  an  hour-glass  or  of  the  grain  in 
a  hopper.  Many  of  these  concaves  were 
dry ;  others  had  a  little  water  in  the  bot- 
tom ;  all  of  them  had  trees  growing  here 
and  there,  quite  undisturbed,  whether  in 
the  water  or  not ;  and  there  was  no  one 
who  had  cared  to  note  how  long  a  time 
had  elapsed  since  they  had  begun  their 
"decline  and  fall."  There  is  little  doubt, 


THE   ONLY    GIRL    IN    THE    PLACE.' 


however,  that  the  future  traveller  will  find 
them  developed  into  lakes,  as,  indeed, 
we  found  one  here  and  there  upon  the 
hilltops. 

How  many  times  we  got  lost  among 
the  lakes  and  "pot-holes,"  the  fallen  trees 
and  thickets  of  Ekoniah  Scrub,  it  would 
be  tedious  to  relate.  How  many  times 
we  came  down  to  the  prairie-level,  and, 
fearful  to  trust  ourselves  upon  the  treach- 


EKONIAH  SCRUB. 


erous,  billowy  green,  were  forced  to  "  try 
back  "  for  a  new  road  along  the  hillside, 
it  would  be  difficult  to  say.  The  county 
clerk's  itinerary  had  ended  here,  and 
William  Townsend  proved  to  be  less 
ubiquitous  than  we  had  been  led  to  ex- 
pect. Thus  it  was  that  night  came  down 
upon  us  one  evening  before  we  had  reach- 
ed a  place  of  shelter — suddenly,  in  the 
thick  scrub,  not  lingeringly,  as  in  the  long 
forest  glades  of  the  lake  country.  For 
an  hour  we  pushed  on,  trusting  now  to 
Barney's  sagacity,  now  to  the  pioneering 
abilities  of  Artist  and  Scribe,  who  march- 
ed in  the  van.  Fireflies  flitted  about,  their 
unusual  brilliancy  often  cheating  us  into 
the  fond  hope  that  shelter  was  at  hand. 
The  ignes-fatui  in  the  valley  below  often 
added  to  the  deception,  and  after  many 
disappointments  we  were  about  to  spread 
our  blankets  upon  the  earth  and  prepare 
for  a  night's  rest  al  fresco  when  we  heard 
a  distant  cow-call.  Clear  and  melodious 
as  the  far-off  "  Ranz  des  Vaches  "  it  broke 
upon  the  stillness,  gladdening  all  our 
hearts.  How"  we  answered  it,  how  we 
hastened  over  logs  and  through  thickets 
in  the  direction  of  answering  voices  and 
glancing  lights — no  ignes-fatui  now — how 
we  were  met  halfway  by  an  entire  family 
whom  we  had  aroused,  and  with  what 
astonishment  we  heard  ourselves  address- 
ed by  name, — can  better  be  imagined  than 
described.  By  the  happiest  of  chances 
we  had  come  upon  the  home  of  some 
people  whom  we  had  casually  met  upon 
the  St.  John's  River  only  a  few  weeks 
before,  and  our  dearest  and  oldest  friends 
could  not  have  welcomed  us  more  cor- 
dially or  have  been  more  gladly  met  by 
us. 

In  the  early  morning  we  heard  again, 
between  sleeping  and  waking,  the  musi- 
cal cow-call.  It  echoed  among  the  hills 
and  over  the  lakes  :  there  were  the  tink- 
ling of  bells,  the  pattering  of  hoofs,  the 
eager,  impatient  sounds  of  a  herd  of  cat- 
tle glad  of  morning  freedom.  It  was  like 
a  dream  of  Switzerland.  And,  hasten- 
ing out,  we  found  the  dream  but  vivified 
by  the  intense  purity  of  the  air  surcharged 
with  ozone,  the  exquisite  clearness  of  the 
outlines  of  the  hills,  the  sparkling  bright- 
ness of  the  lakes  in  the  valley,  the  fresh- 


ness of  glory  and  beauty  which  overspread 
all  like  a  world  new  made. 

One  of  the  great  events  of  that  day 
was  a  desperate  fight  between  two  chame- 
leons in  a  low  oak-scrub  on  the  hilltop. 
The  little  creatures  attacked  each  other 
with  such  fury,  with  such  rapid  changes 
of  color  from  gray  to  green  and  from 
green  to  brown,  with  such  unexpected 
mutations  of  shape  from  long  and  slen- 
der to  short  and  squat,  with  such  sudden 
darlings  out  arid  angry  flamings  of  the 
transparent  membrane  beneath  the  throat, 
with  such  swift  springs  and  flights  and 
glancings  to  and  fro,  as  were  wonderful 
to  see.  It  seemed  as  though  both  must 
succumb  to  the  fierce  scratchings  and 
clawings ;  and  when  at  last  one  got  the 
entire  head  of  his  adversary  in  his  mouth 
and  proceeded  deliberately  to  chew  it  up, 
we  thought  that  the  last  act  in  the  tragedy 
was  at  hand.  The  Small  Boy  made  a 
stealthy  step  forward  with  a  view  to  a  cap- 
ture, when,  presto !  change !  two  chame- 
leons with  heads  intact  were  calmly  gaz- 
ing down  upon  us  with  that  placid  look 
of  their  kind  which  seemed  to  assure  us 
that  fighting  was  the  last  act  of  which  they 
were  capable. 

That  day,  too,  is  memorable  for  the 
charming  scenes  it  brought  us,  impos- 
sible for  the  pencil  to  reproduce  with  all 
their  sweet  accessories.  We  have  found 
the  ford  at  last,  where  the  blue  ribbon  of 
the  stream  lies  across  the  white  sand  of 
ou/  road.  The  prairie  stretches  out  broad 
and  green  with  many  circular  islets  of 
tree-mounds  in  the  ocean-like  expanse. 
The  winding  road  beyond  the  ford  leads, 
between  cultivated  fields  on  one  side  and 
the  tree-bordered  prairie  on  the  other,  up 
to  the  low  horizon,  where  soft  white  thun- 
derheads  are  heaped  in  the  hazy  blue. 
The  tinkling  of  cow-bells  comes  sweetly 
over  the  sea  of  grass ;  slow  wavelets  sob 
softly  in  the  sedges  of  the  stream ;  fish 
glance  through  the  water ;  a  duck  flies 
up  on  swiftly -whirring  wing.  A  great 
moss  -  draped  live  -  oak  leans  over  the 
stream,  and  'the  perfume  of  the  tender 
grapes  which  crown  it  floats  toward  us 
on  the  air. 

Again,  after  we  have  climbed  the  hill 
to  Swan  Lake,  and  have  dined  beside 


EKONIAH  SCRUB. 


77 


Half -moon  Pond,  and  have  "laid  our 
course,"  as  the  sailors  say,  by  our  map 
and  the  sun,  straight  through  the  Scrub 
to  visit  Lake  Ella,  we  come  out  upon  the 
heights  above  Lake  Hutchinson.  The 
dark  greens  of  the  foreground  soften  into 
deep-blue  shadows  in  the  middle  distance. 
Lake  Hutchinson  sparkles,  a  vivid  sap- 
phire, against  the  distant  silvery-gray  of 
Lake  Geneva,  while  far  away  the  low  blue 
hills  melt,  range  behind  range,  into  the 
pale-blue  sky. 

Our  faces  were  turned  homeward,  but 


there  were  yet  many  miles  of  the  Ekoniah 
country  running  to  northward  on  the  east 
of  the  Ridge,  and  lakes  and  lakes  and 
lakes  among  the  scrub  -  clothed  hills.  A 
new  feature  had  become  apparent  in  many 
of  them  :  a  low  reef  of  marsh  entirely  en- 
circling the  inner  waters  and  separating 
them  from  a  still  outer  lagoon,  remind- 
ing us,  with  a  difference,  of  coral-reefs  en- 
circling lakes  in  mid-ocean.  The  shores 
of  these  lakes  were  not  marshy,  but  firm 
and  hard,  like  the  lakes  of  the  hilltops, 
with  the  same  smooth  forest-slope  sur- 


SANTA   FE   LAKE. 


rounding.  Is  a  reverse  process  going  on 
here,  we  wondered,  from  that  we  have 
seen  in  the  prairies,  and  are  these  sheets 
of  water  to  change  slowly  into  marsh, 
and  so  to  firm  land  again  ?  There  are 
a  number  of  such  lakes  as  these,  and  on 
the  heights  above  one  of  the  largest,  which 
they  have  called  Bethel,  a  family  of  Ca- 
nadian emigrants  have  recently  "taken 
up  a  homestead." 

There  was  still  another  chain  of  prai- 
rie-lakes, the  "Old  Field  Ponds,"  stretch- 
ing north  and  south  on  our  right,  and  as 
we  wound  around  them,  plashing  now 
and  again  through  the  slowly-encroach- 


ing water,  we  had  'Gator-bone  Pond  upon 
our  right.  The  loneliness  of  the  scene 
was  indescribable :  for  hours  we  had  been 
winding  in  and  out  among  the  still  la- 
goons or  climbing  and  descending  the 
ever  -  steeper,  darker  hills.  Night  was 
drawing  on ;  stealthy  mists  came  creep- 
ing grayly  up  from  the  endless  Old  Field 
Ponds;  fireflies  and  glow-worms  and 
will-o'-the-wisps  danced  and  glowered 
amid  the  intense  blackness ;  frogs  croak- 
ed, mosquitos  shrilled,  owls  hooted ;  Bar- 
ney's usual  deliberate  progress  became 
a  snail's  pace,  which  hinted  plainly  at 
blankets  and  the  oat-sack, — when,  all  at 


78 


EKONIAH  SCRUB. 


once,  a  bonfire  flamed  up  from  a  distant 
height,  and  the  sagacious  quadruped 
quickened  his  pace  along  the  steep  hill- 
road. 

A  very  pandemonium  of  sounds  sa- 
luted our  ears  as  we  emerged  from  the 
forest — lowings  and  roarings  and  shriek- 
ings  of  fighting  cattle,  wild  hoots  from 
hoarse  masculine  throats,  the  shrill  tones 
of  a  woman's  angry  voice,  the  discordant 
notes  of  an  accordion,  the  shuffle  of  heavy 
dancing  feet.  We  had  but  happened  upon 
a  band  of  cow -hunters  returning  home- 
ward with  their  spoils,  and  the  fightings 
of  their  imprisoned  cattle  were  only  less 
frightful  than  their  own  wild  orgies.  If 
we  had  often  before  been  reminded  of 
Italian  skies  and  of  the  freshness  and 
brightness  of  Swiss  mountain -air,  now 
thoughts  of  the  Black  Forest,  with  all  of 
weird  or  horrible  that  we  had  ever  read 
of  that  storied  country,  rushed  to  our 
minds  —  robber -haunted  mills,  murder- 
ous inns,  treacherous  hosts,  "  terribly  - 
strange  beds."  Not  that  we  apprehend- 
ed real  danger,  but  to  our  unfranchised 
and  infant  minds  the  chills  and  fevers 
which  mayhap  lurked  in  the  mist-clothed 
forest,  or  even  a  wandering  "cat,"  seemed 
less  to  be  dreaded  than  the  wild  baccha- 
nals who  surrounded  us.  We  would  fain 
have  returned,  but  it  was  too  late.  Bar- 
ney was  already  in  the  power  of  unseen 
hands,  which  had  seized  upon  him  in 
the  darkness ;  an  old  virago  had  ordered 
us  into  the  house ;  and  when  we  had 
declined  to  partake  of  the  relics  of  a 
feast  which  strewed  the  table,  we  were 
ignominiously  consigned  to  a  den  of  a 
lean-to  opening  upon  the  piazza.  A  "ter- 
ribly-strange bed"  indeed  was  the  old 
four-poster,  which  swayed  and  shrieked 
at  the  slightest  touch,  and  myriad  the 
enemies  which  there  lay  in  wait  for  our 
blood.  We  were  not  murdered,  however, 


nor  did  our  unseen  foes  —  as  had  once 
been  predicted  by  a  Cracker  friend  — 
quite  "  eat  us  plum  up,  bodaciously 
alive."  In  the  early  morning  we  fled, 
though  not  until  we  had  seen  how  beau- 
tiful a  home  the  old  plantation  once  had 
been.  These  were  not  Crackers  among 
whom  we  had  passed  the  night,  but  the 
"native  and  best."  Not  a  fair  specimen 
of  this  class,  surely,  but  such  as  here  and 
there,  in  the  remoter  corners  of  the  South, 
are  breeding  such  troubles  as  may  well 
become  a  grave  problem  to  the  states- 
man—  the  legitimate  outgrowth  of  the 
old  regime.  War- orphaned,  untutored, 
unrestrained,  contemning  legitimate  au- 
thority, spending  the  intervals  of  jail-life 
in  wild  revels  and  wilder  crimes, — such 
were  the  men  in  whose  ruined  home  we 
had  passed  the  night. 

There  was  yet  one  more  morning 
among  the  gorgeous  -  foliaged  "scrub- 
hills,"  one  more  gypsy  meal  by  a  lake- 
side, one  more  genial  welcome  to  a  hos- 
pitable Cracker  board,  and  we  were  at 
home  again  in  the  wide  sea  of  pines 
which  stretches  to  the  St.  John's.  In  the 
ten  days  of  our  journey  we  had  seen, 
within  a  tract  of  land  some  thirty  miles 
long  by  forty  in  breadth,  more  than  fifty 
isolated  lakes  and  three  prairie  -  chains ; 
had  visited  four  enterprising  Northern 
colonies  and  numerous  thrifty  Southern 
farms ;  had  found  an  air  clear  and  in- 
vigorating as  that  of  Switzerland,  soft 
and  balmy  as  in  the  tropics,  while  the 
gorgeous  colorings  of  tree  and  flower, 
of  water  and  sky,  were  like  a  dream  of 
the  Orient. 

"  But  there !"  said  the  Small  Boy,  stop- 
ping suddenly  with  a  half-  unbuckled 
strap  of  Barney's  harness  in  his  hand : 
"  we  forgot  one  thing,  after  all :  never 
found  William  Townsend !" 


STRATFORD-ON-THE-SOUND. 


MAIN   STREET. 


"\  T  7"E  say  "Stratford -on -the -Sound," 
V  V  because  Stratford  Point  j  uts  sharp- 
ly out  into  Long  Island  Sound,  and  its 
rocky  promontory  and  soft  silver  beach 
feel  the  beat  of  the  sea.  "  Stratford 
Light,"  ever  rising  and  setting  like  some 
swiftly -circling  star  at  night,  is  watched 
for  by  all  the  pilots  of  the  Sound  steam- 
ers when  shaping  their  eastward  course 
after  passing  through  the  Narrows.  The 
town  is  also  called  "  Stratford  -  on  -  the  - 
Housatonic,"  and  in  colonial  days  was 
known  as  "  Stratford  -  in  -  Connecticut." 
Which  one  of  the  many  English  Strat- 
fords  it  was  originally  named  for  is  a 
matter  involving  conjecture  perhaps, 
but  little  doubt.  The  prophetic  souls  of 
its  first  settlers,  "  dreaming  on  things  to 
come,"  must  have  foreseen  the  tranquil 
beauty  of  the  place,  with  its  long  avenues 


of  trees,  its  velvety  turf,  its  picturesque 
rural  scenery,  and  named  it  after  Shake- 
speare's town. 

Our  Stratford,  if  not  a  place  of  pilgrim- 
age or  fame,  has  advantages  and  charms 
which  are  not  to  be  summed  up  in  a  sin- 
gle sentence.  Nor  has  it  committed  itself 
to  any  fixed  ideas  or  exhausted  its  strength 
in  any  one  direction.  The  place  is  unique, 
with  a  character  and  ways  of  its  own  :  it 
has  the  flavor  of  wealth  without  the  tur- 
moil of  commerce  or  manufactures ;  the 
flavor  of  exclusiveness  without  the  pre- 
tences of  fashion ;  the  flavor  of  culture 
without  any  tinge  of  pedantry.  It  is  rural, 
yet  neither  primitive  nor  crude ;  easily  ac- 
cessible, yet  isolated  by  its  contrast  to  its 
surroundings ;  picturesque,  though  it  offers 
little  to  the  seeker  of  wild  and  romantic 
scenery ;  a  place  of  "  summer  resort," 
79 


8o 


STRA  TFORD-  ON-  THE-SO  UND. 


yet  affording  no  facilities  to  the  vulgar 
tourist.  It  is  in  New  England,  yet  curi- 
ously unlike  New  England  in  most  of  its 
characteristics,  while  its  quiet,  mellow 
tone,  tending  to  soothe  the  mind  and 
inspire  contentment,  generally  suggests 
the  remark  that  it  is  "so  English." 

"Stratford,"  wrote  Dr.  Samuel  Peters 
in  his  General  History  of  Connecticut, 
published  in  London  in  1781,  "lies  on 


FIRST   EPISCOPAL   CHURCH    IN   CONNECTICUT. 

the  west  bank  of  the  Osootonic  River, 
having  the  sea  or  Sound  on  the  south. 
There  are  three  streets  running  north 
and  south,  and  two  east  and  west.  The 
best  is  one  mile  long.  On  the  centre 
square  stands  a  meeting-house  with  stee- 
ple and  bell,  and  a  church  with  steeple, 
bell,  clock  and  organ.  It  is  a  beautiful 
place,  and  from  the  water  has  an  appear- 
ance not  inferior  to  Canterbury.  The  peo- 
ple are  said  to  be  the  most  polite  of  any 
in  the  colony." 

Ahundred  years  have  rolled  away  since 
this  was  written,  yet  the  description  has 
been  little  contradicted  by  any  changes. 
The  Congregational  church  on  Meeting- 
house Hill  was  burned  down  early  in  the 
century  and  replaced  by  the  academy. 
A  new  Episcopal  church  has  taken  the 
place  of  the  colonial  edifice,  and  there 


have  been  other  trifling  concessions  to  a 
progressive  age.  But  none  of  the  charac- 
teristics of  the  sketch  have  been  obscured. 
The  village  has  never  been  stirred  by 
those  uneasy  activities  which  overturn 
other  New  England  towns,  or  if  an  im- 
pulse so  little  akin  to  its  habits  and  tra- 
ditions has  been  felt,  it  was  sure  to  result 
in  disintegration,  and  Stratford  has  cast 
off  its  unruly  suburbs,  with  their  enter- 
prises and  industries 
and  ambitions.  Our 
Stratford  has  known  no 
bustles,  no  excitements, 
no  competitions:  no 
coarse  stimulus  has  in- 
truded into  its  life.  The 
motto  of  the  place  and 
the  expression  of  its  re- 
pose has  been  from  the 
beginning,  "Surtout 
point  de  zele." 

Hence  one  feels  more 
than  one  sees  in  the  old 
town.     Its  wide  grass- 
bordered  streets — al- 
most lawns   in  them- 
selves— its  immemorial 
elms,  which  arch  above 
the  silent  walks,  its 
glimpses  of  the  wide 
majestic  river,  the  har- 
bor and  Sound,  with 
the  blue  shores  of  Long 
Island  on  the  far  horizon,  —  all  have  as 
many  suggestions  to  the  mind  and  the 
imagination  as  to  the  senses,  and  the 
happiness  one  gains  in  the  place  has  its 
roots  in  the  finest  perceptions.     Main 
street,  canopied  by  a  leafy  dome  of  elms, 
runs  the  entire  length  of  the  town :  after 
passing  the  "Upper  Green"  it  becomes 
no  longer  a  village  street,  but  a  pictu- 
resque country  road,  wending  through 
wooded  nooks  and  along  the  banks  of  the 
Housatonic  into  the  shadows  and  silence 
of  the  forests.     Thus  on  the  north  Strat- 
ford merges  its  genuine  characteristics  in 
New  England  hill-  and  river-scenery,  but 
on  the  south  stretches  a  lazy  length  to 
listen  to  the  murmur  of  the  sea.     Below 
the  Neck  are  the  broad  salt -meadows, 
scarcely  above  the   sea-line,  levelling 
away   to   the   horizons,   through   which 


STRA  TFORD-  ON-  THE-SO  UND. 


81 


wind  creeks,  the  water  level  with  the 
banks  at  high  tide,  while  at  the  ebb  the 
sides  are  left  perpendicular,  black  and 
bare.  Here  grows  the  salt -grass,  dry, 
stiff,  glistening,  drowned  twice  a  day  by 
the  sea  and  scorched  by  the  suns,  until 
the  farmers  cut  it  and  carry  it  home  in 
great  thrifty-looking  loads,  which  creep, 
a  monotonous  procession,  through  the 
quiet  streets  under  the  long  shadows  to- 
ward sunset  on  September  days.  Then 
the  meadows,  green  before,  take  on  mel- 
low autumn  tints — warm  browns,  russet, 
orange,  crimson — and,  traversed  by  wan- 
dering shadows  on  autumn  days,  these 
wide  monotonous  spaces  have  a  beauty 
and  a  poetry  of  their  own. 

The  chief  streets  of  the  village  were 
originally  laid  out  sixteen  rods  wide : 
each  generation  has  encroached  a  little 
on  the  broad  stretches  of  greensward, 
but  they  still  remain  of  wonderful  width, 
and,  played  over  by  the  shadows  and 
the  sunshine  which  flickers  through  the 
branches  of  the  lofty  trees,  give  an  im- 
pression of  illimitable  distances  and  mas- 
sive repose.  Stratford  set  out  to  be  a  city, 
and  was  carefully  surveyed  and  laid  out 
in  squares ;  and  it  is  a  melancholy  thought 
that  instead  of  fulfilling  its  destiny,  a  city 
it  might  have  become  except  for  the  lucky 
accident  that  its  harbor  was  neither  so 
broad  nor  so  deep  as  that  of  Bridgeport, 
which  lies  a  few  miles  westward.  As  a 
city  it  might  have  been  surpassed  by 
others,  and  the  distinction  of  the  strange 
soft  charm  which  now  wins  the  eye  and 
fixes  the  place  in  the  heart  would  have 
been  lost. 

The  Housatonic  River  widens  at  its 
outlet,  and  makes  the  beautiful  bay  which 
is  called  "the  Harbor."  The  river  de- 
serves more  than  a  passing  word.  Un- 
til its  waters  near  the  sea  they  flow  through 
a  picturesque  mountainous  region  which 
contains  some  of  the  most  charming  sce- 
nery of  New  England.  But  by  the  time 
it  begins  to  feel  the  languid  pulse  of  the 
tide  it  spreads  its  waters,  washing  banks 
rich  in  all  pastoral  beauties,  and  seeming 
no  longer  a  river,  but  an  arm  of  the  sea. 
The  apparent  breadth  of  the  bay  is  di- 
minished by  the  low-lying  sedgy  banks 
of  Nell's  Island,  and  to  the  east  Milford 
6 


Beach  runs  down  its  long  white  taper  fin- 
ger, fringed  with  glistening  shoals.  Then 
open  the  far  horizons  of  the  Sound,  spread- 
ing into  distances  of  deep  pure  color  ex- 
cept in  the  farthest  verges,  where  Long 
Island  shows,  or  the  illimitable  waste 
merges  into  pale,  misty  opal  tints. 

Whatever  commerce  once  came  into 
Stratford  harbor  has  almost  passed  away, 
and  except  for  a  few  sloops  and  schoon- 
ers discharging  cargoes  of  coal,  and  an 
occasional  obstreperous  steam-tug,  it  is 
now  less  devoted  to  the  larger  maritime 
enterprises  than  to  pleasure-parties  and 
amateur  fishermen.  Yachts  and  sail- 
boats, clean-cut  sharpeys,  and  catama- 
rans suggesting  phantoms  of  a  wreck, 
chase  each  other  up  and  down  the  bay 


MEETING-HOUSE   HILL,   WITH   ACADEMY. 

on  a  summer's  day,  cross  and  recross, 
tacking,  jibing,  careening  from  morning 
till  night.  Then  in  the  oyster  -  season  a 
brisk  traffic  is  carried  on,  and  the  wa- 
ters are  covered  with  a  flotilla  of  odd- 
looking  craft  buying  up  loads  of  baby 
oysters  for  bedding. 

Stratford  may  be  said  to  resemble  a 
happy  woman,  inasmuch  as  it  has  no 
history.  The  original  township  was  ten 
miles  square,  and  was  purchased  in  1639 
by  a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Thomas 
Fairchild,  who  came  out  from  England 
and  was  the  first  civil  officer  of  the  town. 
The  Indians  after  selling  their  lands  re- 
tired to  their  two  reservations  —  one  at 


STRA  TFORD-  ON-  THE-SO  UND. 


Golden  Hill,  Bridgeport,  and  the  other 
at  Coram,  on  the  borders  of  Huntington. 
The  names  of  some  of  the  early  settlers 
were  Judson,  Wilcoxson,  Hawley,  Nell, 
Welles,  Birdsey,  etc.,  all  of  whom  had 
large  families,  and  whose  descendants 


LIGHTHOUSE    POINT. 

still  belong  to  Stratford.  Mr.  Birdsey 
removed  here  from  Milford  in  1649,  and 
tradition  lends  a  sort  of  romance  to  his 
hegira.  Milford  was  renowned  for  its 
orthodoxy,  and  the  "Blue  Laws,"  both 
written  and  unwritten,  were  rigidly  en- 
forced. One  of  these  insisted  that  no 
man  should  kiss  his  wife  on  Sunday. 
Mr.  Birdsey,  having  been  caught  offend- 
ing in  this  particular,  was  on  Monday 
sentenced  to  a  certain  number  of  lashes : 
he  escaped  from  the  town-officers,  howev- 
er, ran  to  the  river,  swam  it,  and  once  on 
the  Stratford  shore  shook  his  fists  in  his 
pursuers'  faces.  His  wife  followed  him, 
as  in  duty  bound,  and  his  children  in- 
creased and  his  grandchildren  multiplied 
until  now  the  Birdsey  pedigree  is  the  cen- 
tral stem  of  all  Stratford  genealogies. 

Another  curious  story  is  told  about  one 
of  these  descendants,  who  from  his  pa- 
triarchal tendencies  is  generally  called 
"Grandfather  Birdsey."  One  summer 
more  than  a  hundred  years  ago  a  terri- 
ble drouth  occurred,  and  not  only  all  the 
cisterns,  but  the  very  wells,  ran  dry,  and 
the  live-stock  on  all  the  farms  in  the  lo- 
cality suffered  for  want  of  water.  In  this 
extremity  of  need  Grandfather  Birdsey 
went  out  upon  his  place,  and,  kneeling 
down  in  a  retired  spot,  prayed  earnestly 


for  water.  Rising  from  his  knees,  he 
saw  before  him  a  tuft  of  green  herbage, 
which  caught  his  eye,  contrasted  as  it 
was  with  the  universal  brown  of  the 
parched  earth.  He  put  down  his  hand, 
and,  feeling  the  ground  cool  and  moist 
beneath  it,  took  a  spade  and  removed 
the  soil,  when  a  spring  trickled  up  and 
overflowed  the  place.  In  all  the  centu- 
ry since  this  fountain  has  never  run  dry, 
and  it  is  still  pointed  out  as  "  Grandfather 
Birdsey's  Spring." 

But  to  return  to  the  infant  colony. 
Naturally,  its  first  troubles  arose  from 
schisms  in  the  churches.  Those  good 
old  questions  of  church  membership  and 
discipline,  infant  baptism  and  the  sort 
and  degree  of  everlasting  damnation  for 
the  unregenerate  and  the  backsliding, 
arose,  were  discussed,  and  resulted  in 
separation.  The  chief  schismatics  in 
Stratford  church  left  the  settlement  and 
colonized  Woodbury.  But  it  may  as 
well  be  confessed  that  Puritan  rigors 
never  gained  full  sway  over  Stratford. 
There  was  from  the  start  a  strong  con- 
servative element  in  the  town,  and  no- 
where in  New  England  was  felt  more 
early  the  reaction  from  the  strifes  of  Con- 
gregationalism. The  first  Episcopal  so- 
ciety in  Connecticut  colony  was  founded 
in  Stratford  in  the  year  1707,  and  main- 
tained a  struggling  existence  until  1722, 
when  a  mission  was  established.  From 
1723,  Christ  Church  of  Stratford  has  a 
clear  record  and  an  important  history. 
At  that  time  Mr.  Samuel  Johnson,*  hav- 
ing returned  from  England,  where  he 
had  spent  a  year  and  taken  holy  orders, 
was  settled  as  pastor,  and  until  1754, 
when  he  became  president  of  King's 
(now  Columbia)  College  in  New  York, 
he  gave  all  his  powerful  abilities  to  the 
advancement  of  the  parish.  During  his 
long  pastorate  there  were  some  lively 

•Born  in  Guilford,  Connecticut,  1696;  Congrega- 
tional minister  and  tutor  at  Yale  College,  where  he 
became  converted  to  Episcopacy  at  the  same  time 
that  other  ministers  and  professors  changed  their 
religious  views.  This  event  caused  a  great  commo- 
tion. "  I  suppose,"  said  President  Woolsey  in  an 
historical  address,  "  that  greater  alarm  would  scarce- 
ly be  awakened  in  Yale  College  now  if  the  theological 
faculty  were  to  declare  for  the  Church  of  Rome, 
avow  their  belief  in  transubstantiation,  anil  pray  to 
the  Virgin  Mary." 


STRA  TFORD-  ON-  THE-SO  UND. 


breezes  of  doctrinal  and  social  differ- 
ences between  the  rival  religious  bodies. 
The  Rev.  Hezekiah  Gold,  the  Congrega- 
tional minister,  was  in 
the  habit  of  saying  that 
Dr.  Johnson  had  never 
been  truly  converted, 
and  of  intimating  with 
somewhat  obtrusive 
frankness  that  his 
Episcopal  brother  was 
a  thief  and  a  robber  of 
churches,  and  that  the 
doors  of  his  sanctuary 
stood  open  to  all  mis- 
chief and  wickedness. 
But  these  little  trou- 
bles finally  righted 
themselves,  and  the 
two  religious  bodies 
began  to  look  upon 
each  other  as  Chris- 
tian brethren  as  their 
bells  rang  out  togeth- 
er. The  first  Congre- 
gational bell  was  shrill 
and  thin  in  tone,  while 
the  bell  of  the  Episco- 
pal church  was  deep 
and  heavy.  In  a  later  generation  a 
village  wit  used  to  say,  "  The  Congre- 
gational bell  goes — 

0  -  rig-in-al  sin !    O  -  rig-in-al  sin  I  O  •  rig-in-al  sinl 

and  the  Episcopal  bell  goes — 


must  all  have  been  made  of  glass.  The 
organ  was  the  first  instrument  of  its  kind 
used  in  a  place  of  public  worship  in  Con- 


Good  old  English  roast-beef  1  Good  old  English  roast-beef  1" 

In  1743  the  second  Christ  Church  was 
erected  on  the  village  green  at  the  foot 
of  Meeting-house  Hill,  where  it  stood 
until  1858.  It  was  to  this  church  that 
Dr.  Peters  admiringly  alluded,  and  on 
the  top  of  its  steeple  was  a  proud  and 
dominant  cock,  which  has  to  this  day 
faced  the  tempest.  The  bell  was  given 
by  Dr.  Johnson,  and  the  glass  for  its 
many  windows  by  another  well-wisher, 
who,  however,  when  he  came  to  pay 
the  bill,  is  said  to  have  expressed  some 
regrets  for  his  over -lavish  generosity, 
declaring  with  irritation  that  the  church 


UP   THE    RIVER. 

necticut,  and  was  purchased  in  1756  by 
thirty-three  persons,  who  "  bound  them- 
selves to  Mr.  Gilbert  Doblois  of  Boston, 
merchant,  in  the  aggregate  sum  of  sixty 
pounds  sterling,  to  be  paid  within  six  years 
in  six  equal  payments  of  ten  pounds  ster- 
ling per  annum,  without  demand  of  in- 
terest." 

The  Revolution  brought  fresh  causes 
of  difference  between  the  churches.  The 
Episcopal  ministers,  whose  strength  lay 
in  traditional  authority,  naturally  took 
the  side  of  England.  Having  prayed  so 
long  for  "our  excellent  King  George," 
they  found  it  almost  impossible  to  leave 
off  such  supplications.  One  of  them  ut- 
tered this  prayer  by  inadvertence  after 
the  war  began  :  then,  seeing  a  threaten- 
ing movement  in  his  congregation,  he 
corrected  himself,  shouting  frantically, 
"O  Lord,  I  mean  George  Washington!" 
In  Stratford  church  the  old  prayers  were 
cut  short  by  an  arbitrary  patriot,  who  had 
no  notion  of  uttering  "amen"  to  such 
heresies.  "My  grandfather,"  so  Captain 


STRA  TFORD-  ON-  THE-SOUND. 


Pulaski  Benjamin  has  told  me,  "went  to 
church  the  Sunday  after  the  battle  of 
Lexington,  and  when  Mr.  Kneeland  (the 
clergyman)  read  out  the  prayer  for  the 
royal  family,  he  stood  up  in  his  pew  and 
declared  that  no  such  prayers  must  be 
uttered  in  Stratford  —  that  the  name  of 
George  III.  was  the  name  of  the  worst 
enemy  of  every  one  in  the  colony.  Mr. 
Kneeland  rose  from  his  knees,  shut  his 
prayer-book,  raised  his  hand  and  pro- 
nounced the  benediction,  and  the  church 
was  closed  until  the  end  of  the  war.  .  .  . 


"  PARADISE." 

We  were  good  patriots,  we  were,"  Cap- 
tain Benjamin  went  on,  "but  we  had  one 
staunch  Tory  and  churchman  in  our  fam- 
ily. After  the  church  was  closed  my  grand- 
father's family  used  to  attend  Presbyte- 
rian meeting  on  the  hill,  close  by  the 
place  where  the  academy  now  stands, 
but  their  old  dog  Duke  would  never  go 
past  the  church  when  he  followed  his 
master  out  on  Sunday  mornings.  He 
would  not  go  to  Presbyterian  meeting 
with  rebels — not  he !  He  stretched  him- 
self on  the  great  millstone  before  the 
closed  church-door  and  waited  until  ser- 
vice was  over."  The  patriots  all  over 
New  England  carried  some  rampant  Pu- 
ritanism into  their  treatment  of  the  unpa- 
triotic Episcopal  ministers :  they  allowed 


them  no  freedom,  and  would  not  even 
permit  them  to  visit  parishioners  with- 
out leave  from  the  civil  authorities.  Mr. 
Kneeland,  pastor  of  Christ  Church,  "thus 
died  a  prisoner  to  the  patriots  in  his  own 
house  in  Stratford,  April. 17,  1777." 

Stratford  gave  its  proportion  of  men 
and  money  to  the  patriot  cause.  Gene- 
ral Wooster  shines  conspicuously  among 
the  officers  who  belonged  to  the  town. 
It  was  more  fortunate  than  other  towns 
and  villages  along  the  coast,  which  were 
attacked  and  burned,  but  the  inhabitants 
passed  through 
plenty  of  terrors 
and  vicissitudes. 
One  hour  of  heart- 
quake  and  hopeless 
suspense  still  tells 
its  story :  on  a  pane 
of  glass  preserved 
in  a  fine  old  house 
in  Elm  street  are 
these  words  scratch- 
ed with  a  diamond : 
"  Peace,  hush  this 
dismal  din  of  arms ! 
Jan.  17,  1777."  We 
can  hear  the  wo- 
man's sigh  all 
through  the  long 
century. 

The  only  military 
engagement  which 
ever  took  place 
within  town -limits 

occurred  in  the  war  of  1812.  There  had 
been  for  some  time  rumors  that  the  Brit- 
ish were  preparing  to  devastate  the  coasts 
of  Connecticut,  and  when  one  of  the  en- 
emy's men-of-war  anchored  off  Stratford 
lighthouse  a  thrill  of  terror  ran  through 
the  entire  town.  The  authorities  met,  and 
it  was  decided  to  take  instant  measures 
for  safety,  to  post  a  militia  guard  near 
the  Point,  which  should  keep  watch  for 
the  invaders,  detect  their  manoeuvres, 
and  oppose  them  if  they  attempted  to 
land.  A  sergeant  and  sixteen  men  were 
selected  for  this  dangerous  task.  "  Not  a 
drum  was  heard"  as  the  armed  company 
with  great  caution  and  secrecy  proceed- 
ed to  their  post,  every  man  sworn  to  do 
his  duty.  The  shades  of  night  never  de- 


STRA  TFORD-  ON-  THE-SO  UND. 


scended  more  heavily  than  upon  this 
band  of  devoted  patriots,  who  felt  that 
not  only  the  destinies  of  Stratford  de- 
pended upon  their  bravery,  but  the  fate 
of  their  wives  and  children  as  well.  The 


night  was  black,  a  driving  wind  tore  the 
clouds  overhead,  and  the  breakers  roar- 
ed against  the  lighthouse  rocks.  Strange 
sounds  were  heard,  which  awoke  the 
direst  consternation  among  the  watch- 


ELM   STREET. 


ers :  unaccountable  gleams  were  seen 
overhead.  Inspired  by  a  belief  that  the 
enemy  might  be  at  hand,  the  sergeant 
valiantly  crept  along  the  sands,  climbed 
a  low  slope,  stretched  himself  flat  on  the 
ground,  and  waited.  For  a  time  all  was 
still :  then  all  at  once  he  saw  clearly  that 
something  moved.  It  moved  again,  and 
yet  again  !  There  could  be  no  doubt  but 
what  the  British  were  upon  them.  "Scat- 
ter, men!  SCATTER  !"  he  cried  frantically 
at  the  top  of  his  voice,  and  his  men,  faith- 
ful to  the  least  word  of  their  commander, 
scattered.  As  daylight  gradually  made 
the  situation  visible,  the  valiant  warriors 
crawled  out  of  their  various  hiding-places 
and  looked  each  other  in  the  face.  The 
British  man-of-war  was  nowhere  to  be 
seen  :  all  that  remained  to  show  what 
the  dangers  of  their  midnight  encounter 
had  been  were  the  three  mullein-stalks 
which  the  sergeant  had  seen  waving  in 
the  wind.  The  comrades  swore  a  sacred 


oath,  and  declared  they  would  keep  it 
with  an  equal  mind,  that  the  story  of  the 
night's  adventure  should  never  be  told ; 
and  with  that  veil  drawn  over  the  secret 
the  conquering  heroes  returned  home  to 
their  breakfasts.  Two  hours  afterward, 
as  the  sergeant  was  chopping  wood  in 
his  dooryard,  one  of  his  neighbors,  who 
had  not  served  on  military  duty,  looked 
over  the  fence,  and  said  with  a  grim 
smile,  "Scatter,  men!  scatter!"  .The 
story  was  too  good  to  keep. 

These  historical  vicissitudes  past,  Strat- 
ford settled  down  into  a  long  sleep.  Co- 
lonial and  religious  excitements  had  died 
out:  the  periodical  excitements  of  politics 
were  taken  mildly,  as  if  between  the  ex- 
tremes of  parties  might  be  found  a  mid- 
dle ground  of  toleration  where  men  might 
dwell  together.  If  I  could  but  summon 
up  the  old  postmaster,  David  Brooks,  as  a 
witness  of  the  good  feeling  that  kept  him 
in  office  half  a  century,  secure  in  the  af- 


86 


5  TRA  TFORD-  ON-  THE- SO  UND. 


fection  of  friend  and  adversary,  we  should 
see  that  Presidential  elections  might  be 
robbed  of  half  their  terrors.  Is  there  any- 


BUSINESS  CENTRE. 

where  now  in  the  land  such  a  post-office 
as  he  kept  in  a  little  store,  where  the  sun- 
niest and  pleasantest  corner  was  provid- 
ed with  cushioned  seats  for  the  comfort 
of  the  venerable  men  who  "  most  did 
congregate"  to  meet  the  arriving  post- 
bag  ?  This  generation  knows  nothing  of 
the  pleasurable  excitement  of  having  a 
mail  come  in.  There  are  nimble  fingers 
and  miraculous  methods  now-a-days, 
and  papers  and  letters  are  whisked  into 
boxes  which  show  one  at  a  glance  what 
is  in  store.  No  such  convenient  and  un- 
dignified proceedings  were  possible  when 
Mr.  Brooks  was  in  power.  From  the  mo- 
ment his  trembling  old  hands  grasped  the 
bag  and  slowly  inserted  the  key  until  a 
litter  of  letters  and  papers  from  East  and 
West  and  North  and  South  was  spread 
on  the  counter  before  him,  he  gradually 
swelled  with  importance  and  solemnity. 
His  was  no  careless  guardianship :  mar- 
vellous precautions  would  he  take  lest 
the  letters  should  get  into  wrong  hands 
when  they  left  his  own ;  in  fact,  from  the 


fierceness  of  his  look  and  attitude,  one 
might  have  supposed  that  he  regarded 
the  claimant  of  a  letter  as  an  intruder 
on  his  own  rights. 
Gathering  the  pack- 
ets into  his  hand  and 
expanding  his  lungs 
to  their  fullest,  he 
would  begin  ( often 
interrupting  himself 
by  truculent  observa- 
tions on  bad  ink  and 
bad  writing)  to  read 
off  the  names,  peer- 
ing at  each  super- 
scription through  his 
heavy-bowed  specta- 
cles, holding  the  mis- 
sive first  at  arm's 
length,  then  directly 
under  his  nose.  The 
happy  recipient  on 
hearing  his  name 
called  would  shout 
"Here!"  when  the 
old  postmaster,  after 
indignantly  survey- 
ing the  aspirant  from 
head  to  foot,  evident- 
ly longing  to  pronounce  him  an  impostor, 
would  make  a  reluctant  surrender. 

Wealth  naturally  flowed  into  Stratford 
through  many  channels,  although  the 
larger  industries  were  not  pursued : 
"stores"  there  were  in  plenty,  which 
drove  a  thriving,  if  a  languid,  trade. 
One  of  these  stores,  whose  extraordi- 
nary collection  of  goods  defied  analyza- 
tion  and  classification,  was  declared  to 
contain  every  salable  article  on  the  face 
of  the  earth.  This  was  made  the  subject 
of  a  wager,  and  the  challenger  proceed- 
ed to  the  store  and  asked  its  proprietor 
if  he  had  a  pulpit!  He  lost  his  money, 
for  the  shopkeeper  blandly  replied  that 
he  happened  to  have  a  pulpit,  a  very 
good  pulpit  indeed — the  old  Methodist 
pulpit ! 

Stratford,  like  most  places  on  the  coast, 
has  had  plenty  of  sailors  and  plenty  of 
captains — captains  of  fishing-boats,  cap- 
tains of  coast-schooners,  captains  of  East 
India  ships.  The  captain  par  eminence 
of  Stratford  has  long  been  Captain  Pu- 


STRA  TFORD-  ON-  THE-SOUND. 


laski  Benjamin.  Other  captains  of  his 
day  and  generation  are  old  men,  their 
strength  and  prime,  their  ability  and  en- 
ergy, wasted  in  long  cruises,  and  for  the 
remainder  of  their  lives  they  are  obliged 
to  be  contented  with  a  chair  tilted  against 
the  wall  at  a  convenient  angle,  and  orac- 
ular silences  unless  in  the  mood  for  some 
briny  old  sea-story  which  has  few  listen- 
ers and  fewer  believers.  Captain  Ben- 
jamin, on  the  other  hand,  after  crowd- 
ing his  sea-career  with  interest,  entered 
upon  a  new  lease  of  pleasant  existence 


as  a  landsman.  The  Prince  de  Ligne 
thought  the  most  desirable  fate  was  to 
be  a  woman  till  thirty,  a  soldier  till  fif- 
ty, and  a  monk  the  rest  of  one's  life; 
but  our  captain,  improving  on  that,  was 
a  sailor  till  fifty,  and  during  the  other 
half  of  his  life  has  been  the  most  delight- 
ful of  young  men.  He  now  remains  the 
last  survivor  of  the  Dartmoor  prisoners. 
He  can  be  eloquent  concerning  his  long- 
past  imprisonment,  and  has  an  interest- 
ing story  to  tell  of  the  brutal  massacre 
at  Dartmoor  at  the  very  time  the  treaty 


THE   LAST   DARTMOOR   PRISONER. 


of  Ghent  was  being  signed.  Afterward 
he  was  in  the  China  and  Liverpool  trade : 
he  carried,  first  or  last,  all  sorts  of  pre- 
cious cargoes,  but  no  matter  what  rich 
merchandise  freighted  his  ships  in  the 
old  days,  it  is  a  matter  of  certainty  that 
his  present  sailboat,  which  cuts  the  blue 
waters  of  Stratford  harbor  on  a  summer's 
day,  contains  treasures  yet  more  price- 
less. The  Adele  is  noted  for  its  pretty 
crews,  and,  surrounded  by  bright  eyes, 
rosy  cheeks  and  girlish  figures,  the  last 
Dartmoor  prisoner  enjoys  a  different  sort 
of  captivity. 

Few  lives  have  been  so  quiet  and 
blissful  as  to  have  known  no  break,  no 
harsh  interruption  of  their  repose.  One 
such  episode  gave  Stratford  for  a  time  an 


unenviable  fame.  Some  of  my  readers 
will  call  up  without  any  effort  of  memory 
the  strange  and  mysterious  history  of  the 
"  Stratford  Knockings,"  which  began  in 
March,  1850.  One  is  tempted  to  believe 
that  the  spirit  of  Goody  Bassett,  hanged 
in  1651  for  divers  witchlike  arts,  was 
never  fairly  laid,  and  now,  after  an  un- 
quiet term  of  one  hundred  and  ninety- 
nine  years,  returned  to  walk  the  earth. 
Or  it  may  be  that  the  dust  of  those  early 
settlers,  over  whose  graves  the  lofty  trees 
of  Elm  street  were  planted  and  now  ex- 
tend their  leafy  aisles,  rose  for  a  sort  of 
earthly  j  udgment-day  and  took  possession 
of  the  nearest  habitation.  Evil-minded  or 
angry  spirits  they  must  have  been  who 
ransacked,  pounded,  knocked  and  al- 


88 


STRA  TFORD-  ON-  THE-SOUND. 


most  overturned  the  quiet,  decorous 
house  known  in  later  years  as  the  Strat- 
ford Institute.  During  the  early  period 
of  this  unearthly  possession  the  entire 
village  was  convulsed  with  excitement 
and  lost  its  character  for  sobriety ;  crowds 
poured  hither  by  every  train  ;  editors,  re- 
porters, Spiritualists,  sceptics  explored, 


HOUSE  WHERE  THE   "STRATFORD   KNOCKINGS  "    OCCURRED. 


watched,  investigated  and  interrogated, 
and  gave  an  unwelcome  publicity  to  the 
scandalous  details.  The  single  village 
hackman  throve  amidst  the  universal 
decline  and  fall  of  Stratford :  so  many 
were  the  visitors  that  he  was  obliged  to 
set  up  a  huge  yellow  omnibus,  which 
traversed  the  streets  night  and  day  with 
a  sign  in  huge  capitals  which  made  the 
village  disgrace  only  too  legible :  "  Mys- 
terious Stratford  Knockings." 

The  "knockings"  began  in  the  house 
of  Dr.  A.  Phelps,  who  had  resided  in  the 
place,  with  his  wife  and  children,  for  two 
or  three  years.  The  day  was  Sunday. 
When  Dr.  Phelps's  family  returned  from 
church  they  found  their  door  hung  with 
crape,  and  on  entering  the  house  saw 
signs  of  strange  disturbance  during  their 
absence,  while  in  one  of  the  rooms  was 
discovered  a  figure  laid  out  and  shroud- 
ed for  the  grave.  From  this  moment 
the  house  was  taken  possession  of  by 
the  "spirits"  or  some  other  unseen  agen- 


cies, that  continued  to  run  riot  for  the 
ensuing  eight  months  or  more.  Every 
trick,  device,  horror,  absurdity,  imperti- 
nence ever  pressed  into  the  service  of 
ghost,  hobgoblin,  witch  or  modern  "spir- 
it "  was  now  turned  against  the  peace  and 
respectability  of  this  unfortunate  family. 
There  were  rappings  —  not  merely  rap- 
pings,  but  thumpings, 
and  thumpings,  too, 
as  if  a  giant's  strength 
were  behind  them  ; 
there  were  marvel- 
lous noises,  with  re- 
verberations  like 
thunder  up  and  down 
the  staircases  and 
along  the  halls ;  there 
were  apparitions, 
strange  figures  in 
strange  places;  there 
were  messages  from 
the  unseen  land  of 
the  spirits,  not  only 
spelled  out  in  hard 
knocks  and  vibrations 
on  headboards  of 
beds,  on  ceilings, 
doors  and  floors,  but 
written  out  fairly  on 
slips  of  paper,  which  floated  down  from 
the  invisible  like  the  leaves  of  the  Cu- 
maean  Sibyl :  the  very  vegetables  from 
the  cellar  on  being  pared  and  sliced 
were  found  to  be  written  over  with  indel- 
ible characters.  There  were  apparently 
whole  legions  of  spirits  hard  at  work,  as 
if  all  the  tormented  souls  from  one  of 
Dante's  lowest  circles  had  been  delivered 
from  their  pain  to  communicate  certain 
tidinga  to  all  who  entered  Dr.  Phelps's 
house,  then,  finding  no  interpreter,  grew 
angry  and  waged  war  upon  the  unbeliev- 
ers who  rejected  them.  Their  ammu- 
nition showed  a  dearth  of  all  suitable 
spiritual  artillery:  flat-irons,  large  junk 
ink  -  bottles,  scuttles  of  coals,  pokers, 
bricks,  and  even  toilet-brushes,  were  the 
weapons  made  use  of;  scissors  too,  since 
one  of  the  daily  performances  was  cut- 
ting into  ribbons  the  clothes  of  the  son 
and  heir  of  the  house. 

These  things  may   seem   incredible, 
but  they  were  not  done  in  a  corner,  and 


STRA  TFORD-  ON-  THE-SOUND. 


89 


the  eyes  of  all  men  were  turned  to  see 
what  would  be  the  end  of  it.  The  un- 
happy master  of  the  house  courted  inves- 
tigation, and  for  four  months  everything 
was  investigated  and  the  most  widely- 
differing  conclusions  were  reached.  Elm 
street  —  haughty,  exclusive,  aristocratic 
Elm  street — echoed  to  the  tread  of  hun- 
dreds who  came  to  find  some  clew  to 
the  strange  "  Stratford  knockings."  First 
of  all  was  Parson  Weed,  startled  out  of 
his  study -chair  by  the  tidings  of  these 


doings  of  the  Evil  One  in  the  very  midst 
of  the  faithful,  still  wearing  his  gown  and 
slippers,  his  luminous  eyes  bent  on  space 
as  he  strode  indignantly  forward,  eager  to 
encounter  and  vanquish  the  adversary. 
Other  divines  followed  him,  but  all  the 
light  of  their  orthodoxy  could  not  illu- 
minate the  darkness  of  these  manifesta- 
tions. Some  of  those  who  came  to  sug- 
gest an  easy  remedy  for  cheap  and  ob- 
vious impostures  remained  mute,  deci- 
ding that  there  might  be  things  in  heav- 


DINING-ROOM   OF  WILLIAM   SAMUEL  JOHNSON,   ESQ. 


en  and  earth  not  reached  by  their  little 
foot -measure  of  philosophy.  Strange 
things  were  enacted  before  clear-sighted 
and  reasonable  men,  two  of  whom,  sit- 
ting alone  in  a  room  with  two  doors — 
one  opening  into  the  hall,  and  the  other 
into  a  clothes-press  —  heard  knockings 
on  the  inside  of  the  closet-door,  which 
on  opening  they  found  to  proceed  from 
vacancy :  as  soon  as  the  door  was  again 
closed  the  knockings  proceeded,  not  only 
with  a  loud  noise,  but  so  vigorously  that 
the  very  panels  shook  under  their  eyes. 
Sitting  before  the  fire,  they  beheld  the  or- 
naments on  the  mantelpiece  spring  from 
their  places  to  alight  unbroken  on  the 
floor ;  bricks  started  out  of  thin'  air  and 
were  hurled  across  the  room ;  pokers 
jumped  up  of  their  own  accord  and  went 
crashing  through  the  windows ;  on  lift- 


ing a  lighted  candle  they  saw  the  flame 
expand  to  four  times  its  usual  circumfer- 
ence, circle  round  the  wick,  then  shrink 
and  hang  blue  and  tremulous  above,  and 
finally  resume  its  feeble  flicker.  These 
sights,  and  a  thousand  others  as  unusual, 
are  related  by  the  most  credible  witnesses 
among  outsiders.  The  family  themselves 
were  compelled  to  endure  personal  dem- 
onstrations of  ghosts  or  hobgoblins,  who 
when  clasped  in  the  arms  of  flesh  and 
blood  vanished,  leaving  nothing  behind 
save  sheets  from  the  domestic  linen- 
chest. 

Life  in  Stratford  was  not  an  amuse- 
ment to  the  worthy  Dr.  Phelps.  Sur- 
rounded apparently  by  a  band  of  hos- 
tile forces  which  threatened  flesh  and 
blood,  haunted,  waylaid  and  pursued  by 
spectres,  girt  about  by  a  sea  of  mystery 


9o 


STRA  TFORD-  ON-  THE-SOUND. 


which  separated  him  from  his  fellow- 
creatures,  and,  worse  than  all,  forced  to 
have  his  misfortunes  become  a  show, 
a.  coarse  stimulus  for  sensationalists,  he 
saw  no  resource  but  to  flee  from  his  trou- 
bles, and  he  accordingly  left  the  place. 
The  spirits  went  with  him,  or  back  to  their 
forgotten  God's  Acre,  or  into  the  witch's 
unmarked  burial-place.  There  are  those 
who  still  shake  their  heads  over  the  Strat- 


ford knockings,  maintaining  that  they 
were  never  in  any  degree  explained, 
while  others  find  them  as  easy  of  solu- 
tion as  the  jokes  in  a  last  year's  almanac. 
Stratford  has  never  been  provincial  in 
its  manners,  fashions  or  modes.  Certain 
traits  of  elegance,  of  agreeable  manners, 
of  the  best  fashions  of  doing  things,  it 
may  as  well  be  conceded  without  ques- 
tion, belonged  to  the  place  from  the  be- 
ginning. Dr.  Peters  a  hundred  years  ago 
made  special  mention  of  this,  and  as- 
cribed it  to  the  constant  attrition  with 
people  from  the  mother-country  and  so- 
journers  from  the  islands  and  Southern 
sections.  Every  place  has  its  characteris- 
tic people,  and  Stratford  of  course  has  had 
its  generations  of  men  and  women  whose 


characteristics  stand  out,  or  seem  to  stand 
out,  more  strongly  marked  in  individual- 
ity than  those  of  to-day.  Some  of  the 
names  which  still  testify  to  the  long-con- 
tinued prosperity  of  the  place  —  Ben- 
jamin, Nicoll,  Poore,  Walker,  Tomlin- 
son,  Gorham,  Thompson,  Wetmore, 
Plant,  Judson,  Shelton,  Wheeler,  Booth 
— seem  to  be  more  largely  represented 
in  the  quiet  graveyards  which  lie  one  on 
the  right  and  the  oth- 
er on  the  left  than  in 
the  homes  of  the  liv- 
ing. Among  the  fam- 
ilies whose  genealo- 
gies enrich  the  history 
of  Stratford,  the  John- 
sons are  pre-eminent. 
Some  suggestion  of  Dr. 
Samuel  Johnson's  use- 
ful career  has  already 
been  given.  After  re- 
tiring from  the  pres- 
idency of  King's  Col- 
lege he  ended  his  days 
quietly  in  this  place  in 
1772.  His  son,  Wil- 
liam Samuel  Johnson, 
was  a  man  of  perhaps 
more  brilliant  abilities, 
and  his  life  embraced 
the  widest  range  of 
opportunities  for  dis- 
tinction and  culture : 
his  profession  was 
the  law,  and  he  held 
everywhere  high  places  of  honor  and 
trust.  In  1766  he  was  appointed  agent 
to  England,  and  resided  there  for  five 
years:  later  in  life  he  was  one  of  the 
ratifiers  of  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States,  was  sent  Senator  to  Washington, 
and  succeeded  his  father  as  president  of 
Columbia  College.  The  Johnson  connec- 
tion is  interesting  from  the  fact  of  its  in- 
cluding many  eminent  presidents  of  col- 
leges :  besides  Dr.  Johnson  and  his  son 
may  be  mentioned  Presidents  Jonathan 
Edwards,  first  and  second,  Rev.  Aaron 
Burr,  Timothy  Dwight,  Sereno  Dwight, 
Theodorus  Dwight  Woolsey  and  Daniel 
C.  Gilman.  The  house  of  the  present  Wil- 
liam Samuel  Johnson,  the  great-grand- 
son of  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson,  is  full  of 


STRA  7'FORD-  ON-  THE-SO  UND. 


91 


memorials  of  the  vanished  generations. 
The  dining-room  is  hung  with  family 
portraits,  and  above  the  fireplace  may 
be  seen  the  refined,  beautiful  face  of 
Jonathan  Edwards,  which  little  suggests 
his  character  as  a  fiery  zealot  and  rigid 
doctrinaire.  The  autograph  letters  pre- 
served in  the  family  archives  are  of  ster- 


ling value  and  interest,  and  show  fre- 
quent intercourse  with  many  of  the  lead- 
ing minds  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Dr. 
Johnson  and  Bishop  Berkeley  were  life- 
long correspondents,  and  many  of  the 
bishop's  theories  were  discussed  between 
them :  Dr.  Franklin  is  also  well  repre- 
sented by  letters,  and  there  is  at  least 


JU 


"F"'Uuxr''v; 

' "'V*  Vj**<i  A*C/' 

«'<     ^'^ 

**•. .  ••* 


"  WHAT   IS   ONE  AMONG   SO   MANY  ? 


one  from  the  pen  of  Dr.  Samuel  John- 
son the  lexicographer.  He  met  his  name- 
sake in  London,  and  the  acquaintance 
was  sufficiently  intimate  and  cordial  to 
occasion  the  presentation  of  a  splendid 
folio  copy  of  the  famous  Dictionary  and 
also  a  portrait  of  himself ;  both  of  which 
are  still  preserved.  The  following  letter 
hangs  framed  against  the  wall  of  the 
Johnsons'  library : 

"  To  DR.  JOHNSON  : — SIR, — Of  all  those 
whom  the  various  accidents  of  life  have 
brought  within  my  notice,  there  is  scarce 
any  one  whose  acquaintance  I  have  more 
desired  to  cultivate  than  yours.  I  can- 
not indeed  charge  you  with  neglecting 
me,  yet  our  mutual  inclination  could 


scarce  gratify  itself  with  opportunities; 
the  current  of  the  day  always  bore  us 
away  from  one  another,  and  now  the 
Atlantic  is  between  us. 

"  Whether  you  carried  away  an  im- 
pression of  me  as  pleasing  as  that 
which  you  left  me  of  yourself,  I  know 
not:  if  you  did,  you  have  not  forgot- 
ten me,  and  will  be  glad  that  I  do  not 
forget  you.  Merely  to  be  remembered 
is  indeed  a  barren  pleasure,  but  it  is 
one  of  the  pleasures  which  is  more 
sensibly  felt  as  human  nature  is  more 
exalted. 

"  To  make  you  wish  that  I  should  have 
you  in  my  mind,  I  would  be  glad  to  tell 
you  something  which  you  do  not  know, 
but  all  public  affairs  are  printed ;  and  as 


92 


STRA  TFORD-  ON-  THE-SO  UND. 


you  and  I  had  no  common  friends,  I  can 
tell  you  no  private  history. 

"  The  Government  I  think  grows  strong- 
er, but  I  am  afraid  the  next  general  elec- 


tion will  be  a  time  of  uncommon  turbu- 
lence, violence  and  outrage. 

"  Of  Literature  no  great  product  has 
appeared,  or  is  expected ;  the  attention 


TOO  LITTLE  ROMEO. 


of  the  people  has  for  some  years  been 
otherwise  employed. 

"  I  was  told  two  days  ago  of  a  design 
which  must  excite  some  curiosity.  Two 
ships  are  in  preparation,  which  are  un- 
der the  command  of  Captain  Constan- 
tine  Phipps,  to  explore  the  Northern 
ocean,  not  to  seek  the  North-east  or  the 
North-west  passage,  but  to  sail  directly 
north  as  near  the  pole  as  they  can  go. 
They  hope  to  find  an  open  ocean,  but  I 
suspect  it  is  one  mass  of  perpetual  con- 
gelation. I  do  not  much  wish  well  to  dis- 
coveries, for  I  am  always  afraid  they  will 
end  in  conquest  and  robbery. 

"  I  have  been  out  of  order  this  winter, 
but  am  grown  better.  Can  I  ever  hope 


to  see  you  again,  or  must  I  always  be 
content  to  tell  you  that  in  another  hemi- 
sphere, 

"  I  am,  Sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 
"  SAMUEL  JOHNSON  ? 

"  JOHNSON'S  COURT,  Fleet  street,  London,  \ 
March  4,  1773."  / 

The  old  Johnson  house  was  removed 
a  few  years  ago,  much  to  the  regret  of 
all  lovers  of  old  colonial  mansions  curi- 
ous in  tiles  and  carved  work.  The  house 
at  present  occupied  by  the  family  dates 
from  1799.  The  Nicoll  place,  which  dates 
from  the  first  half  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, has  fallen  into  the  hands  of  lineal 
descendants  of  Jonathan  Edwards,  and 
the  rooms  are  hung  with  family  por- 


STRA  7^FOJ?D-  ON-  THE- SO  UND. 


93 


traits,  among  which  are  those  of  Aaron 
Burr  and  his  beautiful  but  most  ill-fated 
daughter,  Theodosia.  Opposite  Colonel 
Burr,  confronting  his  enemy  unto  death, 
is  a  rare  and  valuable  statuette  of  Alex- 
ander Hamilton.  It  is  a  strange  con- 
junction for  the  quiet  parlor  in  the  old 
house :  one  might  suspect  that  Colonel 
Burr,  with  his  penetrating  eyes,  straight, 
clear  features  and  subtle  indrawn  smile, 
must  blush  a  little  under  that  pale  gaze, 
and  that  sometimes  in  ghostly  dawns  the 
two  must  unclose  their 
lips  and  mutter  to  each 
other  about  the  old 
insults  and  the  old 
wrongs. 

This  house  stands  on 
Elm  street,  which  is  a 
little  more  beautiful, 
a  little  more  choice, 
than  any  other  of  Strat- 
ford streets,  with  its 
three  rows  of  trees 
which  canopy  a  para- 
dise of  emerald-enam- 
elled lawns  —  pleasant 
places  all  played  over 
by  the  changing  sun- 
light of  summer  days. 
Elm  street  might  well 
be  made  a  theme  by 
itself;  and  if  we  could 
make  the  pageantry 
of  its  bygone  festivals 
reappear  and  people 
the  long  colonnades 
with  all  the  figures 


min,  Esq.,  whose  stately  house  and  pleas- 
ant grounds  are  associated  with  the  most 
delightful  of  all  Stratford  hospitalities. 
Mention  might  be  made  of  other  houses — 
that  of  John  C.  Bach,  rich  in  works  of  art 
and  bric-a-brac,  and  that  of  Mrs.  Judson, 
containing  beautiful  and  historical  pieces 
of  furniture  dating  back  to  Elizabethan 
times.  We  might  go  on  enumerating 
special  features  of  interest,  including 
Mr.  Hubbell's  "model  farm,"  which  has 
raised  the  standard  of  all  the  farmers 


ON  THE  PIAZZA"  (HOUSE  OF  FREDERICK  A.  BENJAMIN,  ESQ.). 


which  have  paced  up  and  down  —  the 
pretty  girls,  the  lovers  arm  in  arm,  riders 
on  white  horses,  groups  of  party-goers 
and  croquet  -  players  —  and  thus  mirror 
the  shadows  of  the  old  life,  plenty  of  ra- 
diance would  be  thrown  over  Stratford, 
and  all  its  brilliant  points  be  brought 
out  in  bold  relief. 

On  Elm  street  stands  the  house  of  Miss 
E.  L.  Linsley,  which  contains  the  collec- 
tion of  her  father,  James  H.  Linsley,  the 
most  noted  of  Connecticut  naturalists; 
and  the  residence  of  Alfred  Beach,  of  the 
Scientific  American,  is  opposite.  One  of 
the  most  attractive  and  striking  places  in 
the  town  belongs  to  Frederick  A.  Benja- 


in  two  counties,  and  changed  the  old- 
fashioned  breed  of  red  cows  into  the 
beautiful-eyed  Alderneys. 

But  the  people — not  the  houses,  be 
they  costly  and  palatial  as  some  of  them 
are — are  what  give  the  place  its  tone  and 
render  it  peculiarly  habitable.  The  gates 
swing  wide  in  Stratford ;  the  hostesses  are 
charming ;  no  cares  intrude ;  the  chance 
of  an  interchange  of  intellectual  sym- 
pathies is  constant;  smiles  and  warm 
grasps  of  the  hand  invite  a  countless  rep- 
etition of  friendly  visitings.  It  is  a  sin- 
cere, unartificial,  and  at  the  same  time 
a  highly-civilized,  life  one  may  lead  in 
Stratford.  It  has  its  amusements,  of 


94 


5  TRA  TFORD-  ON-  THE-SO  UND. 


course,  on  sea  and  shore  and  under  the 
widespread  foliage.  Croquet  seemed  to 
have  been  by  a  fine  fitness  created  for  the 
special  needs  of  Stratford  life,  and  who- 
ever has  played  it  there  under  the  wil- 
lows and  elms  has  found  his  ideal  of 
what  an  out-of-doors  diversion  may  be- 
come fully  answered :  the  game  is  prop- 
erly played  nowhere  else.  Besides  cro- 
quet there  is  archery,  while  another  form 
of  entertainment  unique  in  pleasantness 
and  peculiar  to  the  place  is  "tea  on  the 
beach,"  when  a  crowd  of  happy  people 
drive  through  the  pleasant  lanes  to  the 
shore  of  Long  Beach,  and  eat  supper  with 
the  accompaniment  of  the  music  of  the 
sad  sea-waves. 

Charming  women  are  of  course  the 
natural  product  of  a  mellow  civilization 
like  that  of  Stratford :  the  town  has  the 
reputation  of  having  "turned  out  more 
brilliant  women  than  any  place  between 
New  York  and  Boston."  It  has  some- 
times been  suggested  that  here,  as  else- 
where, these  lovely  creatures  have  not 
their  full  deserts,  and  that  there  is  plen- 
ty of  balcony,  but  very  little  Romeo. 
But  that  is  a  crying  evil  in  all  places 
outside  the  great  marts  of  the  world,  and 
Eve  lives  alone  in  many  a  Paradise, 
while  Adam  makes  money  in  purgatory. 
But  young  men  are  not  needed  to  add 
picturesqueness  to  the  charming  glimpses 
which  pique  and  flatter  the  eye  on  every 
hand — of  girls  loitering  along  the  broad 
walks  beneath  the  elms,  driving  in  low 
phaetons,  grouping  on  piazzas  or  under 
the  willows.  The  sole  use  of  the  mascu- 
line sex  is  naturally  to  offer  incense,  and 
to  furnish  enough  piquancy  to  the  situa- 
tion to  give  food  for  gossip ;  and  so  much 
may  be  safely  counted  upon  anywhere 
outside  of  a  nunnery.  Whole  genera- 
tions of  belles,  married  with  the  eclat  of 
a  "Stratford  wedding,"  attest  the  fact  that 
men  come  and  go  and  lay  their  hearts  at 


the  feet  of  the  pretty  girls  who  begin  by 
complaining  of  a  lack  of  Romeos. 

True  Stratforders  are  of  two  classes : 
the  first  are  those  intimately  connected 
with  the  place  by  associations  and  tra- 
ditions, whose  ancestors  settled  here  and 
gave  their  earthly  substance  to  the  soil, 
so  that  the  very  dust  became  sacred  to 
the  generations  which  followed  in  the 
footsteps  of  these  forefathers.  The  sec- 
ond are  those  who  are  Stratforders  by 
instinct — by  destiny,  as  it  were :  not  hav- 
ing known  Stratford,  they  might  have 
been  happy  living  and  dying  in  some 
less  favored  spot  of  the  wide  earth ;  hav- 
ing seen  it,  it  becomes  to  them  a  posses- 
sion, it  may  be  —  if  not,  then  a  hope,  a 
dream  of  the  future.  These  true  Strat- 
forders —  and  we  want  no  others  —  love 
the  place,  not  for  its  advantages,  not  for 
its  desirability  as  a  place  of  residence, 
not  wholly  for  its  beauty,  but  for  the 
tone,  the  feeling,  which  is  at  the  begin- 
ning definitely  struck  and  gives  it  for 
ever  after  a  distinct  place  in  their  con- 
sciousness. They  may  confess  a  certain 
stagnation,  a  lack  of  turbulent  life ;  they 
may  be  more  diverted  in  localities  where 
events  move  on  with  a  livelier  tread  and 
the  play  of  the  passions  is  more  exciting 
and  adventure  more  dramatic ;  they  may 
go  away  and  live  for  a  time,  fancying 
from  idle  whim  or  from  necessity  that 
transplantation  from  the  mother  soil 
suits  them  ;  but  the  tyranny  of  filial  sen- 
timent holds  them  in  thrall ;  they  feel 
an  infinite  home-sickness :  they  return — 
they  must  return — drawn  back  by  invis- 
ible leading  -  strings.  This  instinct  is 
planted  deep  in  all  true  Stratforders, 
and  among  the  village  worthies  gossip- 
ing at  the  corner  stores  no  more  severe 
animadversion  can  be  passed  upon  those 
transient  families  who  remain  for  a  sea- 
son or  two,  then  return  no  more,  than 
"They  never  took  to  Stratford." 


CANOEING  ON  THE  HIGH  MISSISSIPPI. 


T 


I. 

H  E  Kleiner  Fritz  and  Hattie  of  Louisville  and  the  Betsy  D.  of 
Cincinnati  made  the  canoe-fleet  which  the  Northern  Pacific  Rail- 
way shunted  out  upon  its  station-platform  at  Detroit  City,  Minnesota, 
in  the  early  gray  of  last  July's  first  Thursday.     We  had  bargained  by 
post  with  Beaulieu,  a  shrewd,  wiry,  reckless  French  half-breed,  for 
transportation  of  ourselves,  canoes,  equipment  and  provisions  to 
Itasca  Lake,  or  to  a  point  upon  the  Mississippi  five  miles  be- 
low the  lake,  as  we  might  elect.     His  assurance 
was  that  four  days  and  forty-one  dollars  would 
carry  us  to  our  first  objective  point.     His  helpers 
were  a  lively  young  half-breed,  son-in-law  of  the 
murdered   chief  Hole -in -the -Day,   another  big 
mongrel,  fat,  plodding  and  reticent,  and  a  young 
Indian  who  could  speak  a  few  English  words,  but 
was  destitute  of  ideas  in  either  English  or  Chip- 
pewa.     Their  motive -power  was  grazing  on  the 
open   prairie  back  of  the  ragged   village.      The 
Reservation  Indian,  denied  liq- 
uor at  home,  reckons  upon  a  trip 
out  of  bounds  as  fair  opportunity 
for  a  spree,  so  that  catching  and 
harnessing  the  ponies  and  cattle 
was  a  tedious  task  that  covered 
the  hours-  from    breakfast    well 
on  toward  noon ;  but  at  last  the 
Hattie  was  firmly  imbedded  in 
prairie  -  grass    and    soft  luggage 
upon  one  wagon,  the  Fritz  and 
the   Betsy  were  bound  together 
upon  a  second,  and  the  men  of 
the  fleet,   with  the  stores,  filled 
the  third. 

From   Detroit    City  to   Itasca 
Lake  is   about  forty  miles  in  a 

straight  line,  but  no  practicable  way  thither  approximates  to  a  direct  line,  and  he 
who  would  see  the  beautiful  lake  and  the  head  of  the  great  river  must  travel  for 
seven  or  eight  days  and  endure  many  hardships.  Sixty  miles  were  to  be  done  on 
wheels.  The  first  day's  travel  was  to  White  Earth  Agency,  twenty-two  miles  across 
a  rolling  prairie  which  steadily  rises  toward  its  climax  in  the  Hauteur  des  Terres. 
The  soil  is  of  rare  fertility,  and  the  unbounded  fields  were  clothed  in  the  greenest 
of  green,  flecked  with  wild  flowers  of  every  hue  in  luxuriant  profusion.  Clumps  of 
trees  gave  variety  to  the  broad  and  beautiful  view,  while  scores  of  clear  little  lakes 
gemmed  the  prairie  as  with  great  drops  of  molten  silver.  The  eye  swept  an  horizon 
of  twenty  miles,  and  once  twenty  leagues  were  within  our  visual  grasp.  The  plod- 
ding fat  man  went  his  way  in  a  dignified  walk,  but  the  passenger  vehicle  and  that 
which  bore  the  other  boats,  travelling  by  order  of  Beaulieu,  who  had  in  him  more 
Detroit  whiskey  than  ordinary  discretion,  came  more  than  half  the  way  at  a  terrible 
gait,  spite  of  our  rembnstrances  and  greatly  to  our  trepidation.  Examination  showed 

95 


CANOEING    ON  THE   HIGH  MISSISSIPPI. 


that  the  Betsy  was  racked  and  pounded 
beyond  all  excuse,  while  the  poor  Fritz 
revealed  a  hole  in  its  graceful  side  like 
that  made  by  a  six-pound  cannon-shot 
— a  sad  beginning  for  so  long  a  cruise. 
Thence  we  went  on  slowly  to  the  agency, 
where  our  first  task  was  to  find  a  clever 
Vermont  Yankee  reputed  as  the  man  to 
repair  the  unwelcome  and  inexcusable 
damage.  The  ingenious  and  genial  fel- 
low worked  through  the  hot  Fourth  of 
July,  while  we  mingled  with  the  Indians 
and  took  part  in  their  celebration,  the  first 
ever  conducted  entirely  by  themselves. 

White  Earth  Agency  is  the  seat  of  gov- 
ernment of  three  reservations  which  em- 
brace the  homes  of  all  the  Chippewas. 
White  Earth  Reservation  is  thirty -six 
miles  square,  and  is  peopled  by  near- 
ly seventeen  hundred  Indians  and  half- 
breeds.  These  were  formerly  gathered 
upon  Crow  Wing  River,  near  Brainerd, 
where  they  existed  in  drunkenness,  bar- 
barism and  destitution.  In  1868  they 
were  removed  here,  and  the  institutions 
of  Christian  civilization  were  introduced. 
They  live  in  comfortable  cabins  and  bark 
lodges.  Tlie  agent,  Major  C.  A.  Ruffee, 
is  a  gentleman  of  capacity  and  integrity. 
Using  his  authority  well  and  wisely,  he 
is  a  king  throughout  his  dominion  of 
thirteen  hundred  square  miles.  His  hap- 
py blending  of  civil  and  military  govern- 
ment gives  satisfaction  to  all  who  are  well 
disposed.  The  Chippewas  deal  kindly 
among  themselves,  and  have  no  quar- 
rels with  the  whites.  They  have  a  well- 
arranged  police  system,  with  a  chief,  lieu- 
tenants and  sergeants,  embracing  sixteen 
men  in  all,  and  directly  responsible  to  the 
agent.  No  liquor  is  allowed  on  the  res- 
ervation. They  have  no  pilfering,  and 
the  few  locks  and  bolts  are  rarely  need- 
ed. In  case  of  trespass  or  disagreement 
the  parties  come  or  are  summoned  before 
the  agent,  who  examines  the  case  on  its 
merits,  weighs  the  facts  and  the  equities, 
decides ;  and  there  the  quarrel  ends. 

The  seat  of  the  agency  is  an  orderless 
village  gathered  about  a  green -shored 
little  lake,  and  includes  the  office  of  the 
agent,  the  post-office,  a  warehouse  for  sup- 
plies, a  meat-shop,  two  trading-stores  and 
an  untidy  and  comfortless  hotel.  Near  by 


is  the  neat  cottage  of  the  agent,  a  large 
and  comely  boarding-school,  an  indus- 
trial school,  and  the  residences  of  the 
chief  clerk  and  of  the  head-farmer,  who 
teaches  and  aids  the  Indians  in  practical 
farming.  Not  far  away  to  the  south  is 
the  Roman  Catholic  church ;  a  mile  to 
the  north  is  the  hospital,  a  large  and 
cheerful  building;  and  near  the  hospi- 
tal are  the  tasteful  Protestant  Episcopal 
chapel  and  the  rectory  of  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Gilfillan,  who  for  fourteen  years  has  wor- 
thily occupied  a  parish  coextensive  with 
the  Chippewa  Nation.  The  true  solution 
of  the  Indian  question  is  being  worked 
out  at  White  Earth  in  results  that  augur 
well  for  the  future.  Each  child  may  se- 
cure education,  and  the  minds  and  morals 
of  all  ages  are  cared  for.  Their  churches 
are  well  attended  and  their  schools  have 
outgrown  present  accommodations.  Their 
religious  services  and  schools  are  con- 
ducted in  their  own  language.  They 
have  an  educated  Indian  clergyman 
who  can  scarcely  speak  English,  while 
Mr.  Gilfillan  speaks  the  Chippewa  as  flu- 
ently as  his  mother-tongue.  They  have 
few  quarrels,  no  thieving,  no  drunken- 
ness, no  abject  poverty.  They  are  not 
more  perfect  than  others  of  human  kind, 
but  according  to  their  light  and  sphere 
they  are  as  good  as  a  similar  average 
of  whites  anywhere.  The  wise  purpose 
is  to  make  them  kind,  moral,  educated 
and  industrious  Indians,  not  make-be- 
lieve white  men,  and  the  work  is  doing 
and  promising  well  in  sincere  and  ca- 
pable hands. 

The  Indian  Fourth-of-July  celebration 
took  place  in  an  open,  treeless  prairie. 
The  festivities  centred  in  a  series  of  races 
run  in  pairs  by  the  small  and  wiry  Indian 
ponies  over  a  curved,  mowed  and  rolled 
half-mile  course.  Nearly  all  the  young 
men  were  betters,  in  stakes  of  from  twen- 
ty-five cents  to  ten  dollars.  There  were 
no  pools,  but  hard  running,  straight  bet- 
ting and  square  paying.  The  chief  of 
police  was  the  president  of  the  course. 
All  were  in  good-humor.  There  was  no 
liquor,  neither  was  there  a  harsh  word 
or  a  blow  among  the  five  hundred.  Af- 
ter the  races  eatables,  tea,  coffee  and  ice- 
water  were  enjoyed  with  laughter  and 


CANOEING    ON  THE  HIGH  MISSISSIPPI. 


97 


chat.  In  the  evening  we  cruisers  gave  a 
show  of  rockets  and  Roman  candles,  to 
the  great  delight  of  the  Indians,  and  the 
day  closed  with  a  dance  in  the  large 
dining-hall  of  the  boarding-school. 

Our  damaged  boats  repaired  and  prep- 
arations completed  for  three  weeks'  ab- 
sence from  civilization,  we  set  out  near 
mid -day  of  Saturday  for  the  march  to 
Wild  Rice  River,  eighteen  miles.  Our 
way  lay  among  the  cabins,  lodges  and 
farms  of  the  Chippewas,  over  a  billowy, 


green  immensity  bordered  on  the  east 
by  the  lines  of  the  Hauteur  des  Terres, 
which  shut  us  from  the  Mississippi  Val- 
ley, and  horizoned  on  the  west  by  the 
slopes  beyond  the  famed  Red  River  of 
the  North.  Our  day's  journey  termi- 
nated, in  a  driving  rainstorm,  on  the 
banks  of  Wild  Rice  River,  where  are  a 
trading-store,  the  cabin  of  the  trader  and 
a  neat  chapel  of  the  Protestant  Episco- 
pal mission.  Our  habitation  for  the  night 
was  a  dark,  muddy,  odorous  storehouse,  in 


ACROSS   THE   PRAIRIE. 


whose  nether  apartment  we  munched  a 
frugal  supper,  then  climbed  a  ladder  to 
beds  upon  the  bare  floor  between  stacks 
of  snake -root,  which  had  accumulated 
from  barterings  with  the  Indians.  Dur- 
ing the  night  the  rainstorm  grew  to  a 
gale  which  rocked  our  night's  home  like 
a  ship  at  sea  to  the  music  of  heaven's 
grand  diapasons.  Sunday  morning,  im- 
pelled by  the  expense  of  our  large  ret- 
inue and  the  cheerlessness  of  our  refuge, 
we  pushed  on  for  the  foot  of  Wild  Rice 
Lake,  twenty  miles  distant  over  prairies 
and  through  forests.  Two  miles  out  we 
were  overtaken  by  another  fierce  storm, 
which  drove  us  to  the  shelter  of  the  last 
human  habitation,  save  two  others  near 
by,  that  we  should  see  for  three  weeks. 
The  broad,  sweeping  bow  of  the  black 
•cloud,  the  peculiar  detonations  of  thun- 
der in  that  clear  atmosphere,  the  rush 
7 


of  wind,  rain  and  hail,  unhindered  by 
the  treeless  and  trackless  moor,  were 
lessons  of  God's  majesty  and  power  more 
impressive  than  cathedral  mass  or  prayer 
and  song  and  psalm  of  men.  Out  of  the 
storm's  first  onset  we  rushed  unasked  into 
the  hut  of  an  Indian  family,  and  surprised 
a  pair  of  squaws  and  a  six-months'  pap- 
poose  squatting  on  a  dirty  and  rain-pool- 
ed floor  in  almost  total  darkness.  In  an 
hour  the  storm  had  gone  its  eastward 
way,  the  sun  shone  out,  and  we  resumed 
our  trail  among  spruces,  pines,  oaks  and 
elms  to  the  foot  of  the  lake,  where  we 
were  to  dismiss  our  prairie-schooners. 
Monday,  with  the  early  sun,  we  left  teams 
and  drivers,  to  push  on  by  lakes,  up  riv- 
ers and  through  the  pathless  wilderness 
beyond  all  roads  and  habitations.  Our 
party  was  reduced  to  the  barest  needs  for 
the  severe  work  before  us.  Besides  our 


98 


CANOEING    ON  THE   HIGH  MISSISSIPPI. 


three  selves  we  had  a  corps  of  five  In- 
dians as  guides  and  packers,*  each  of 
whom  was  a  character,  and  all  bore 
themselves  through  four  days  of  severe 
work  honestly,  cheerfully  and  helpfully. 
They  were  Henry  St.  Clair,  a  half-breed, 
our  interpreter,  to  whom  we  could  only 
address  measured  monosyllables  with 
any  hope  of  imparting  ideas,  but  always 
faithful,  frank  and  wise ;  Kewashaw- 
konce,  the  guide,  a  man  of  push  and 
a  genuine  wag ;  Kawaybawgo,  a  huge 
hunter,  whose  old  long  shot-gun  has 
banged  over  almost  every  acre  of  these 
wilds  ;  Metagooe,  a  sleepy,  thick-headed 
fellow;  and  Waisonbekton,  young  and 
active,  always  ready  for  work  or  burden 
and  constantly  alert  for  new  and  inter- 
esting things  in  Nature. 

At  the  foot  of  Wild  Rice  Lake  we  pre- 
pared our  canoes  for  voyaging,  and  be- 
gan our  long  paddle  toward  the  source 
of  the  Mississippi,  whence  we  were  to  de- 
scend to  civilization.  A  brief  description 
of  our  little  ships  and  equipment  will  help 
to  a  better  understanding  of  our  cruise. 
Each  voyager  had  a  Rob  Roy  canoe, 
slightly  improved  as  to  model  and  built 
upon  the  incomparable  plan  of  Mr.  Rush- 
ton  of  Canton,  New  York.  The  canoes 
are  fourteen  feet  long,  ten  and  a  half 
inches  deep  and  twenty -seven  inches 
wide,  decked  over  except  a  man  -  hole 
sixteen  by  about  thirty -six  inches,  and 
weighing,  with  the  mast  and  lug  sail, 
from  fifty  to  fifty-six  pounds.  The  pad- 
dle is  eight  feet  long,  bladed  at  each  end, 
grasped  in  the  middle,  and  drives  the 
canoe  by  strokes  alternating  on  each 
side.  The  traveller  sits  flat  upon  the 
boat's  floor,  facing  the  bow.  The  ca- 
nfte  is*  not  only  a  vehicle,  but  furnishes  a 
dry  and  secure  bed  for  sleeping  at  night, 
and,  with  its  rubber  apron,  is  a  refuge  from 
rain  and  storm.  Each  boat  was  equip- 
ped with  an  air -pillow,  rubber  blanket, 
rubber  poncho,  woollen  blankets,  rubber 
navy-bag  and  haversack.  The  general 
outfit  represented  a  fine  double  shot-gun, 
a  small  and  effective  rifle,  a  revolver,  fish- 
ing-tackle for  each  man,  compass,  ane- 
roid barometer,  thermometer,  folding 
stove,  stew-pans  in  nests,  frying-pan, 
broiler,  table-ware,  and  provisions  for 


three  weeks  based  upon  the  army  ration, 
with  dried  fruits,  condensed  milk,  brandy, 
medicines,  etc.,  purchased  at  St.  Paul. 

Our  stores  and  equipment  suitably  di- 
vided between  the  canoes,  we  paddled 
up  through  the  outlet  and  into  the  lake, 
followed  by  Metagooe  and  Waisonbek- 
ton in  a  large  birch-bark  canoe  bearing 
the  provisions  and  camp-supplies  of  the 
Indians,  while  their  companions  walked 
across  the  country. 

Wild  Rice  Lake  is  about  one  mile  by 
five  miles  in  extent.  It  is  named  from 
the  wild  rice  which  grows  up  from  its 
shallow  depths  over  almost  its  whole  ex- 
tent. Each  autumn  hundreds  of  Indians 
gather  upon  its  shores  in  tents  and  lodges 
to  secure  the  crop.  Two  squaws  pass 
slowly  through  the  thick  rice  in  a  birch 
canoe,  one  paddling  at  the  stern  and  the 
other  at  the  bow,  drawing  the  ripe  rice 
over  the  gunwale  and  with  a  club  flail- 
ing the  grain  out  of  the  straw  into  the 
boat.  There  and  thus  every  family  upon 
the  reservation  may  secure  an  important 
part  of  the  winter's  provisions. 

Through  and  over  this  green  and  pro- 
ductive sea  we  paddled  about  four  miles 
to  the  mouth  of  Wild  Rice  River,  which 
flows  out  of  Upper  Wild  Rice  Lake,  then 
up  the  narrow,  deep  and  crooked  river. 
At  our  noon  rendezvous  Kawaybawgo 
and  his  foot-companions  came  in  with  a 
fine  deer,  the  victim  of  his  old  but  effect- 
ive gun.  In  the  early  afternoon  our  prog- 
ress became  slow  and  excessively  weary- 
ing from  the  shallowing  of  the  river  and 
its  wonderful  crookedness.  The  current 
ran  like  a  mill-race  around  hundreds  of 
short  turns,  and  had  its  own  exaspera- 
ting way  upon  our  keels.  Finally,  we 
were  obliged  to  wade  and  drag  the  ca- 
noes after  us  in  water  varying  between 
ankle-  and  waist-deep.  A  few  hours  of 
this  wore  us  all  out,  and  we  called  a  halt 
and  camp,  utterly  exhausted,  with  not 
more  than  twelve  miles  to  the  credit  of 
the  hard  day's  work.  The  Betsy  D.'s 
skipper  rolled  over  dead  -  beaten  and 
sick ;  the  Hattie's  captain  floundered  up 
into  the  deep  grass,  incapable  of  further 
effort;  while  he  of  the  Kleiner  Fritz, 
scarcely  better  off,  prescribed  camphor 
and  black  coffee  for  the  one  and  cherry 


CANOEING    ON  THE   HIGH  MISSISSIPPI. 


99 


brandy  for  the  other,  discreetly  mixing 
the  prescription  for  himself.  Medication, 
an  hour's  rest  and  juicy  rashers  of  broiled 
venison  from  the  Indians'  generous  store 
soon  brought  the  expedition  to  its  wonted 
cheer  and  vigor. 

Supper  over,  we  filled  the  pipes  of  the 
Indians  with  fine  tobacco  and  asked  for 


a  council.  We  all  sat  around  a  bright 
fire,  and  soon  effected  a  bargain  with  the 
Indians  to  drag  our  canoes  on  up  the  lit- 
tle river,  leaving  us  to  walk  across  the 
country  with  the  guide.  Early  the  fol- 
lowing morning  we  started,  four  of  our 
party  with  the  canoes,  and  we  on  foot 
with  Kewashawkonce.  The  guide  was 


TAKING   WATER,   WILD   RICE   LAKE. 


pantomimed  by  our  fat  man  for  a  con- 
servative pace  becoming  the  hot  morn- 
ing and  the  difficult  route.  Ke,  as  we 
abbreviated  him,  strode  into  an  unbro- 
ken forest,  grown  with  dense  underbrush, 
strewn  with  fallen  trees  at  almost  every 
step,  diversified  by  swamps  and  thickets 
through  which  he  beat  his  way  by  main 
strength,  and  now  and  then  traversed  by 
rivers — all  streams  are  rivers  there — into 
which  he  plunged  with  never  an  interro- 
gation-mark, and  so  on  briskly,  up  hill 
and  down,  till,  with  three  miles  of  walk- 
ing, wading,  climbing  and  struggling,  we 
were  brought  to  bay,  tired  out.  Half  an 
hour's  rest  and  some  refreshing  wild  straw- 


berries prepared  us  for  such  another  stage. 
Then  an  hour  more  of  this  terrible  strain 
made  us  drop  again  for  rest.  Another 
hour,  and  before  noon,  hot  and  jaded, 
we  came  out  upon  a  low  bluff  overhang- 
ing the  river,  and  stopped  for  lunch.  The 
guide,  apparently  fresh  and  unwearied, 
cut  a  sheet  of  birch  bark  for  tinder,  lit 
a  fire  as  defence  against  mosquitos,  and 
in  sixty  seconds  was  snoring.  We  were 
not  slow  in  following  his  example,  and 
the  sun  was  dropping  over  into  the  west 
when  we  awoke.  The  guide  examined 
the  river,  and  informed  us  that  our  wa- 
ding section  was  yet  below.  Standing 
in  mid-stream  drinking  from  his  hands, 


IOO 


CANOEING    ON  THE  HIGH  MISSISSIPPI. 


he  saw  a  fine  pickerel's  graceful  move- 
ments a  rod  away,  reached  out  for  a  half- 
sunken  bit  of  a  tree's  branch,  plunged  it 
dexterously  at  the  fish,  struck  it  fairly  in 
the  back,  and  brought  it  up  to  us  with  a 
satisfied  grunt.  We  lounged  the  after- 
noon away,  and  at  six  o'clock  Metagooe 
came  wearily  to  our  camp  with  the  Fritz 
at  his  heels.  Half  an  hour  later  his  com- 
rades came  with  the  other  Rob  Roys, 
their  camp-traps  loaded  upon  the  decks 


and  upon  the  interpreter's  back.  Our 
inquiry  as  to  what  had  become  of  their 
birch  canoe  brought  from  Henry,  as  he 
dropped  his  pack,  the  sententious  answer, 
"  Busted."  Over  the  evening's  pipes  and 
camp-fire,  less  than  eight  miles  of  actual 
distance  accomplished,  we  resolved  to 
abandon  the  shallow  river  and  to  port- 
age directly  to  Upper  Wild  Rice  Lake. 
The  skipper  of  the  Betsy  proposed  for 
the  three  of  us  a  joint  bed :  Cincinnati 


MINNESOTA  MOSQUITOS. 


feet  have  a  troublesome  time  under  a  Rob 
Roy's  low  deck.  We  assented,  stretched 
our  rubber  blankets,  spread  our  woollens, 
adjusted  the  Betsy's  long  mosquito-bar 
and  crawled  carefully  under  it  in  expec- 
tation of  a  glorious  sleep  under  the  stars 
and  the  pines ;  but  the  dreams  of  the 
Hattie's  captain,  the  trombonings  of  the 
Betsy's  nose,  the  tossings  of  the  Fritz 
and  the  savage  industry  of  the  mosquitos 
drove  anything  but  troubled  sleep  from 


our  eyelids,  and  we  welcomed  the  early 
"Ho!  ho!  ho!"  and  improvised  gong 
of  the  irrepressible  Kawaybawgo. 

Before  we  had  done  with  our  coffee, 
venison  and  slap-jacks  the  Indians  had 
made  yokes  for  carrying  the  canoes  on 
their  heads  and  shoulders,  and  had  re- 
duced the  camp  to  packs.  Soon  we  were 
off  upon  the  first  pose  of  a  regular  In- 
dian portage.  Each  of  three  Indians  had 
upon  his  shoulders  one  of  the  canoes. 


CANOEING    ON   THE  HIGH  MISSISSIPPI. 


his  head  within  its  hot  and  darkening 
sides,  its  bow  pointing  forward  high  in  the 
air  and  its  stern  hanging  low  behind  his 
heels.  The  other  two  squatted  upon  heel 
and  toe,  drew  the  broad  strap  of  their 
carrying-thongs  over  their  foreheads,  and 
with  a  plunge  and  a  grunt  sprang  to  their 
feet,  each  with  a  great  hump  of  six  score 
pounds.  Then  we  plunged,  in  Indian 
file,  into  a  trackless  forest,  and  jogtrotted 
our  way  for  three  miles,  when  in  a  clump 
of  pines,  without  a  word  or  a  signal,  down 
came  the  boats  and  the 
packs.  Three  of  the 
splendid  fellows  loosed 
their  pack  -  thongs  and 
took  their  rest  in  tramp- 
ing back  unloaded  to 
camp  for  what  had  been 
left.  The  others,  with 
us,  rested  a  few  mo- 
ments :  then  we  pushed 
on  till  two  miles  brought 
us  out  upon  the  low, 
j  tingled  shore  of  a  beau- 
tiful lake  about  one  mile 
by  two  in  extent.  The 
guide,  without  a  word, 
laid  down  his  load,  but 
not  his  clothes,  and  with 
a  swift  rush  sprang  far 
out  into  the  lake,  swam 
up  and  down,  splashing, 
shouting  and  laughing, 
came  dripping  to  shore, 
lit  his  smudge -fire,  lay 
down  in  a  sunny  place, 
snored  an  hour,  awoke 
dry  and  vigorous,  and 
with  awhoop  he  and  Wai- 
sonbekton  dashed  into 
the  woods  to  go  back  for 
their  share  of  the  luggage  left  behind. 
While  they  were  gone  we  enjoyed  our 
lunch  and  gave  a  name  to  the  lovely  lake 
which  had  rippled  so  long,  far  away  from 
the  haunts  of  men,  without  identity.  We 
christened  it  Rob  Roy  Lake,  in  honor  of 
our  fleet.  It  lies  half  a  mile  to  the  south- 
west of  Upper  Wild  Rice  Lake,  into  which 
its  waters  flow,  and  is  set  down  on  Col- 
ton's  sectional  map  in  the  township  range 
numbered  thirty-seven.  Our  entire  party 
reunited,  we  canoeists  paddled  across  to 


the  lake's  outlet,  a  narrow,  miry  stream 
which  loses  itself  in  a  swamp,  and  that 
in  turn  merges  into  the  Upper  Wild  Rice 
Lake.  We  paddled  and  poled  down  to 
the  end  of  the  little  river,  and  came  to 
a  dead  stand  in  the  matted  roots  of  the 
swamp-grass  :  then  waded  waist-deep  in 
the  mire  and  slime,  each  dragging  his 
canoe  with  the  aid  of  an  Indian,  until  we 
came  out  upon  the  open  water.  Thence 
a  paddle  of  two  miles  along  the  coast 
brought  us  to  another  little  stream  flow- 


THE   MISSISSIPPI   AT   LAST  ! 


ing  into  the  lake.  As  we  came  to  its 
mouth  Kawaybawgo  was  feasting  upon 
a  duck  he  had  killed  and  broiled,  of  which 
he  offered  me  a  portion  with  a  smile  and 
interrogative  grunt  which  seemed  to  com- 
passionate my  wet,  weary  and  forlorn  ap- 
pearance. A  splendid  pike,  two  feet  long, 
came  gracefully  out  of  the  stream  and 
hung  motionless  in  the  clear  water.  I 
pointed  him  out  to  the  Indian  and  the 
Hattie's  captain,  both  of  whom  were 
standing  near  him.  At  the  instant  their 


CANOEING    ON  THE  HIGH  MISSISSIPPI. 


eyes  fell  upon  him  he  moved:  then,  as 
they  started  for  him,  he  darted  like  a 
flash  for  deep  water,  pursued  by  the  two 
men  at  the  top  of  their  speed  through  a 
sheet  of  water  six  inches  deep  for  nearly 
a  hundred  feet  out.  It  was  a  fair  race, 
and  the  six-feet  -  three  Indian  made  a 
splendid  spurt,  but  the  pike  won. 

The  stream  bore  us  upward  to  the  float- 
ing bog  out  of  which  it  flowed.  We  drew 
the  canoes  out  upon  a  meadow  which  un- 
dulated in  graceful  billows  at  our  every 
movement.  A  step  would  shake  all  the 
surface  for  a  rod  about  us,  while  our  com- 
bined tread  sent  waves  of  grassy  earth  in 
every  direction.  A  sudden  leap  so  shook 
the  cup  of  cold  coffee  sitting  by  one  of  the 
Indians,  six  or  seven  yards  away,  that 
the  liquid  spilled  over  the  cup's  edge. 
The  whole  meadow,  solid  to  the  eye,  is 
but  one  of  those  monster  sponges  that 
hold  in  abeyance  waters  which  other- 
wise would  sweep  like  a  flood  down  the 
great  rivers/  Beyond  this  billowy  field 
we  came  to  the  open  water  of  another 
unnamed  lake,  about  one  mile  long, 
fringed  about  with  green  pines,  to  which 
we  gave  the  name  of  Longworth,  in  hon- 
or of  Cincinnati's  distinguished  judge,  and 
to  a  lovely  little  green  island  thickly 
grown  with  trees  we  gave  the  name  of 
another  canoeist  left  behind,  Mr.  Emp- 
son  of  Louisville.  At  the  head  of  Long- 
worth  Lake,  and  in  plain  view  of  Emp- 
son  Island,  within  a  space  cleared  out  of 
a  dense  jungle,  we  made  our  last  camp 
before  reaching  the  coveted  Mississippi. 
Our  stay  here  was  marked  in  red  by  the 
most  vindictive  attack  from  mosquitos 
in  all  the  cruise.  No  one  unacquaint- 
ed with  the  Northern  Minnesota  wilder- 
ness in  midsummer,  or  with  a  region  hav- 
ing a  similar  insect  population,  can  at  all 
imagine  the  number  and  fierceness  of  the 
ravenous  aerial  hosts  that  had  beset  us 
all  the  way  from  White  Earth.  In  mid- 
day they  keep  one  constantly  alert,  while 
at  night  they  are  beyond  credible  report. 
They  are  small,  shrewd  and  persistent. 
As  I  lay  awake  their  myriad  voices  about 
and  above  me  made  a  great  chorus,  real- 
ly grand  and  impressive,  out  of  which  for 
a  few  seconds  at  a  time  there  came  bursts 
of  harmony  which  I  could  hardly  separate 


from  the  idea  of  a  vast,  distant  chorus  of 
human  voices.  Against  their  voracity  no 
ordinary  bar  is  a  bar  at  all.  We  had 
gone  to  their  haunts  provided  with  net- 
ting which  at  home  gave  immunity,  but 
through  its  meshes  these  mosquitos  in- 
serted their  bills,  then  their  heads,  then 
struggled  through  bodily,  and  came  down 
upon  us  like  demons.  We  were  dressed 
in  woollens,  our  hands  were  in  dogskin 
gloves  and  our  heads  and  necks  in  thick 
calico  hoods  and  capes,  but  all  such  pro- 
tections were  naught  when  those  scream- 
ing villains  had  a  mind  for  blood.  At 
one  onslaught  they  would  go  into  the 
shrinking  flesh  through  two  thicknesses 
of  wool  and  two  of  cotton,  or  through  a 
heavy  dogskin  glove,  or  through  the  thick 
and  hardened  skin  of  the  hand's  palm  or 
the  foot's  ball,  or  through  a  buckskin 
moccasin  and  cotton  hose — through  any 
protection  at  our  command  except  a  cot- 
ton canopy  hung  wide  of  our  heads  and 
bodies. 

Sung  and  stung  out  of  all  endurance 
by  the  very  centre  of  that  army  of  the 
wilderness,  we  were  astir  in  the  grayest 
of  our  second  Thursday's  dawn,  and 
were  soon  in  readiness  for  our  final  port- 
age over  the  crests  of  the  Heights  of 
Land  to  the  river,  which  out  of  our  long 
and  severe  march  had  become  to  us  a 
veritable  Mecca.  Our  way  was  up  a  gen- 
tle range  of  hills,  whose  tops,  but  a  few 
yards  wide,  divide  the  waters  which  flow 
southward  to  the  great  Gulf  from  those 
which  seek  their  far  northward  trend 
through  the  Red  River  of  the  North. 
The  first  division  of  our  party  reached 
the  Mississippi  before  noon  with  a  joy 
born  out  of  a  week's  toil  and  hardship, 
and  in  a  trice  I  was  drinking  of  and  lav- 
ing in  its  swift,  bright  water.  We  could 
hardly  realize  that  in  this  deep,  rushing 
brook,  not  more  than  four  or  five  paces 
wide,  we  saw  the  beginnings  of  that  ma- 
jestic current  which  drains  half  a  con- 
tinent. Soon  our  second  division  came 
up,  we  ate  our  last  lunch  in  company, 
and  the  Indians,  each  shaking  us  by  the 
hand  with  a  grunt  and  a  smile,  then  go- 
ing off  into  the  forest  with  a  cheer,  left 
us  alone  in  that  vast  and  uninhabited 
wilderness.  Late  in  the  afternoon  we 


CANOEING    ON  THE  HIGH  MISSISSIPPI. 


103 


launched  our  canoes  into  the  little  riv- 
er, and  loaded  them  for  our  journey  to 
its  head,  camping  about  three  miles 
above  our  point  of  embarkation. 

The  next  morning  we  started  with  light 
hearts  upon  what  we  supposed  would  be 
but  a  short  journey  to  the  river's  source, 
to  meet  an  exasperating  disappointment. 
We  had  made  a  bargain  for  transporta- 
tion from  the  railway  to  Itasca  Lake  or 


to  a  point  five  miles  below,  all  fully  dia- 
grammed and  understood  by  correspond- 
ence, but  found  ourselves  set  down  by 
the  employes  of  the  rascally  half-breed 
— who  had  been  careful  to  leave  us  at 
Wild  Rice  Lake — in  an  unknown  land, 
six  days  from  civilization,  at  a  point  near- 
ly or  quite  thirty  miles  below  the  lake,  be- 
low a  region  of  rapids  and  obstructions 
against  which  we  had  especially  stipu- 


HEAD   OK  THE  MISSISSIPPI. 


lated,  and  up  which  no  craft  had  ever 
travelled.  A  mile's  work  brought  us  to 
the  beginning  of  this  second  series  of 
troubles.  Lying  across  the  river  at  all 
heights,  depths  and  angles  were  the 
tough  pine  logs  we  had  dreaded,  and  at 
every  mile  or  two  were  tumbling  rapids. 
All  that  long  Friday  we  took  our  turns 
with  the  axe,  lopping  off  branches  that 
we  might  squeeze  under  or  shunt  over 
logs ;  climbing  with  our  stores  and  boats 
over  great  log-drifts  held  by  the  grip  of 
the  rocky  defiles  ;  wading  through  shoals 
and  dragging  our  canoes  through  mud 
and  sand  ;  plunging  suddenly  into  holes 
that  engulfed  us  to  our  armpits ;  pad- 
dling astride  our  decks  over  pools  too 
deep  for  wading ;  chopping  and  wrench- 


ing logs  that  forbade  other  means  of  pas- 
sage ;  fighting  inch  by  inch  up  plunging 
gorges,  down  which  and  over  whose  rug- 
ged boulders  the  narrowed  waters  foam- 
ed in  almost  resistless  fury  and  milky 
foam  —  on  and  up,  rod  by  rod,  half  a 
mile  in  the  hour,  till  we  came  to  a  weary 
and  desolate  camp  not  two  leagues  from 
our  breakfasts.  There  we  cooked  our 
suppers  and  ate  in  hoods  and  gloves, 
fighting  mosquitos  and  black  flies  for 
every  morsel,  speculating  as  to  the  mor- 
row's probabilities  and  discussing  the 
question  of  victory  or  defeat.  We  rose 
from  the  night's  sleep  resolved  upon  see- 
ing Itasca,  and  until  mid-afternoon  fought 
over  again  the  battles  of  yesterday,  and 
at  last  came  out  upon  a  smooth,  placid 


104 


CANOEING    ON  THE   HIGH  MISSISSIPPI. 


stream,  up  which  we  paddled  with  easy 
swing  some  nine  miles.  Then  the  river 
narrowed  and  shallowed,  and  we  again 
took  to  our  feet  upon  a  beautiful  gravelly 
bottom.  At  times  the  way  was  closed 
to  sight  by  rushes  and  wild  rice,  and 
we  could  only  beat  our  way  through.  At 
last  the  water,  thickly  grown  with  reeds, 
broadened  and  deepened,  and  a  score 
of  paddle-strokes  carried  us  through  the 
green  curtain  out  upon  Itasca's  beautiful 
surface,  over  which  we  glided,  under  the 
shadows  of  the  setting  sun,  up  to  School- 
craft's  Island  for  a  Sunday's  quiet. 

Our  heavy  and  restful  sleep  was  not 
broken  till  long  after  the  sun  was  glinting 
upon  us  through  the  trees.  Our  first  work 
was  given  to  building  a  lodge  of  under- 
brush and  making  preparations  for  two 
days'  stay  on  the  lonely  island,  completed 
by  unfurling  the  signal  of  the  New  York 
Canoe  Club  from  a  high  stump  hard  by 
the  camp-fire.  Barring  the  mosquitos, 
Sunday's  rest  was  a  pleasant  and  refresh- 
ing sequence  to  ten  days  of  toil  and  strug- 
gle, and  Monday  found  us  in  hearty  read- 
iness for  a  thorough  exploration  of  Itasca 
Lake  and  its  feeders.  We  took  a  lunch, 
our  guns  and  scientific  instruments,  and 
paddled  up  the  south-west  arm  of  the  lake 
to  find  and  explore  the  leading  tributary. 
We  found  the  outlets  of  five  small  streams, 
two  having  well-defined  mouths  and  three 
filtering  into  the  lake  through  bogs.  Se- 
lecting the  larger  of  the  two  open  streams, 
we  paddled  into  its  sluggish  waters,  ten 
feet  wide  and  one  foot  deep  where  they 
enter  the  lake.  Slow  and  sinuous  prog- 
ress of  two  hundred  yards  brought  us  to 
a  blockade  of  logs  and  to  shallow  water. 
We  landed,  fastened  the  canoes,  took  our 
bearings  by  compass  and  started  for  a 


tramp  through  thicket  and  forest  to  Elk 
Lake,  which  we  reached  after  a  rapid 
walk  of  thirty-five  minutes.  This  lake  is 
an  oval  of  about  one  mile  in  its  longest 
diameter.  It  lies  about  half  a  mile  in  a 
straight  line  south  from  Itasca.  Its  shores 
are  marshy,  bordered  by  hills  densely 
timbered.  Its  sources  are  boggy  streams 
having  little  or  no  clearly-defined  course. 
To  all  appearance,  these  bogs  and  this 
small  lake  are  the  uttermost  tributaries 
to  Itasca  Lake,  and  the  latter,  concen- 
trating these  minor  streams  and  sending 
them  out  as  one,  is  the  true  head  of  the 
Father  of  Waters. 

Elk  Lake  was  a  place  of  misadventure 
to  us.  Our  struggle  through  the  thicket 
and  dense  forest  was  hot  and  exhausting. 
Our  scientist  left  there  a  fine  aneroid  ba- 
rometer, which  a  second  hot  walk  failed 
to  recover.  Our  photographer,  arrived 
at  the  lake  with  a  grievous  burden  of 
camera,  plates,  tripod,  etc.,  found  that 
he  had  forgotten  his  lens  tubes,  and  was 
compelled  to  double  his  tracks  back  to  the 
canoes,  then  wade  out  into  the  swampy 
borders  of  the  lake,  waist-deep  in  slime, 
to  secure  a  view  of  this  highest  Missis- 
sippi water,  only  to  have  his  plate  light- 
struck  and  ruined  by  an  accident  on  the 
homeward  journey. 

While  the  artist  was  gone  for  his  for- 
gotten lenses  our  Nimrod  missed  a  fine 
eagle  which  swept  over  our  heads  at  long 
range.  So  we  returned  to  our  island 
camp  in  no  very  good  mood,  but  a  suc- 
cessful troll  for  lake-trout,  and  a  good 
supper  off  two  fine  fellows  baked  under 
the  coals  in  birch  jackets,  sent  us  to  bed 
in  good  spirits  and  with  no  regrets  save 
for  the  lost  barometer. 


CANOEING  ON  THE  HIGH  MISSISSIPPI. 

II. 


A   LYNX   STIRS   UP  THE  CAMP. 


T  TASCA  LAKE  was  first  seen  of  white 
-L  men  by  William  Morrison,  an  old 
trader,  in  1804.  Several  expeditions  at- 
tempted to  find  the  source  of  the  Great 
River,  but  the  region  was  not  explored 
till  1832  —  by  Schoolcraft,  who  regard- 
ed himself  as  the  discoverer  of  Itasca. 
Much  interesting  matter  concerning  the 
lake  and  its  vicinity  has  been  written  by 
Schoolcraft,  Beltrami  and  Nicollet,  but 
the  exceeding  difficulty  of  reaching  it, 
and  the  absence  of  any  other  induce- 
ments thither  than  a  spirit  of  adventure 
and  curiosity,  make  visitors  to  its  soli- 
tudes few  and  far  between.  Itasca  is  fed 
in  all  by  six  small  streams,  each  too  in- 
significant to  be  called  the  river's  source. 
It  has  three  arms — one  to  the  south-east, 
about  three  and  a  half  miles  long,  fed  by 
a  small  brook  of  clear  and  lively  water ; 
one  to  the  south-west,  about  two  miles  and 
a  half  long,  fed  by  the  five  small  streams 
already  described ;  and  one  reaching 


northward  to  the  outlet,  about  two  and 
a  half  miles.  These  unite  in  a  central 
portion  about  one  mile  square.  The 
arms  are  from  one-fourth  of  a  mile  to 
one  mile  wide,  and  the  lake's  extreme 
length  is  about  seven  miles.  Its  water 
is  clear  and  warm.  July  thirteenth,  when 
the  temperature  of  the  air  was  76°,  the 
water  in  the  largest  arm  of  the  lake  va- 
ried between  74°  and  80°.  We  saw  no 
springs  nor  evidences  of  them,  and  the 
water's  temperature  indicates  that  it  re- 
ceives nothing  from  below.  Still,  it  is 
sweet  and  pure  to  the  taste  and  bright 
and  sparkling  to  the  eye.  Careful  sound- 
ings gave  a  depth  varying  between  four- 
teen and  a  half  and  twenty-six  feet.  The 
only  island  is  that  named  by  Schoolcraft 
after  himself  in  1832.  It  is  in  the  central 
body  of  the  lake,  and  commands  a  partial 
view  of  each  arm.  It  is  about  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  feet  wide  by  three  hundred 
feet  long,  varying  in  height  from  its  wa- 
105 


io6 


CANOEING    ON  THE  HIGH  MISSISSIPPI. 


ter-line  to  twenty-five  feet,  and  is  thickly 
timbered  with  maple,  elm,  oak  and  a 
thicket  of  bushes. 

On  Tuesday  morning,  July  14,  at  six 
o'clock,  we  paddled  away  from  the  isl- 
and to  the  foot  of  the  lake.  The  outlet  is 
entirely  obscured  by  reeds  and  wild  rice, 
through  which  the  water  converges  in 
almost  imperceptible  current  toward  the 
river's  first  definite  banks.  This  screen 
penetrated,  I  stopped  the  Kleiner  Fritz 
in  mid-stream  and  accurately  measured 
width,  depth  and  current.  I  found  the 
width  twenty  feet,  the  depth  on  either 
side  of  my  canoe  as  she  pointed  down 
the  stream  thirty -one  inches,  and  the 
speed  of  the  current  two  and  one-tenth 
miles  to  the  hour.  The  first  four  miles 
of  the  infant's  course  is  swift  and  crook- 
ed, over  a  bed  of  red  sand  and  gravel, 
thickly  interspersed  with  mussel  and 
other  small  shells,  and  bordered  with 
reeds.  Through  these,  at  two  points, 
we  beat  our  way  on  foot,  dragging  the 
canoes  through  unmade  channels.  In- 
deed, nearly  all  of  these  first  four  miles 
demanded  frequent  leaps  from  the  boats 
to  direct  their  swift  and  crooked  course, 
until  we  came  to  a  stretch  of  savanna 
country,  through  which  the  river  washes 
its  way  in  serpentine  windings  for  nine 
miles  with  a  gentle  current  from  thirty  to 
sixty  feet  wide,  bordered  by  high  grass, 
bearing  the  appearance  and  having  the 
even  depth  of  a  canal.  An  easy,  monot- 
onous paddle  through  these  broad  mead- 
ows brought  us  to  the  head  of  the  first 
rapids,  the  scene  of  our  two  days'  up- 
ward struggle.  These  rapids  extend 
about  twelve  miles  as  the  river  runs,  al- 
ternating between  rattling,  rocky  plunges 
and  swift,  smooth  water,  for  the  most  part 
through  a  densely -wooded  ravine  cleft 
through  low  but  abrupt  hills,  and  as  lone- 
ly and  cheerless  as  the  heart  of  Africa. 
The  solitude  is  of  that  sort  which  takes 
hold  upon  the  very  soul  and  weaves  about 
it  hues  of  the  sombrest  cast.  From  our 
parting  with  the  Indians  on  first  reaching 
the  river  we  had  neither  seen  nor  heard 
a  human  being,  nor  were  there  save  here 
and  there  remote  traces  of  man's  hand. 
No  men  dwell  there :  nothing  invites 
men  there.  A  few  birds  and  fewer  ani- 


mals hold  absolute  dominion.  Wander- 
ing there,  one's  senses  become  intensely 
alert.  But  for  the  hoot  of  the  owl,  the 
caw  of  the  crow,  the  scream  of  the  eagle, 
the  infrequent  twitter  of  small  birds,  the 
mighty  but  subdued  roar  of  insects,  the 
rush  of  water  over  the  rocks  and  the  sigh 
and  sough  of  the  wind  among  the  pines, 
the  lonely  wanderer  has  no  sign  of  aught 
but  the  rank  and  dank  vegetation  and  a 
gloomy,  oppressive  plodding  on  and  on, 
without  an  instant's  relief  in  the  sights 
and  sounds  of  human  life.  We  entered 
upon  the  descent  of  the  rapids  in  no  very 
cheerful  mood. 

The  downward  way  was  easier,  and  we 
had  cleared  away,  in  the  upward  struggle, 
such  obstructions  as  were  within  our  con- 
trol. Still,  we  travelled  slowly  and  wea- 
rily, and  came  out  of  our  first  day's  home- 
ward work  wet  and  worn  into  a  camp  in 
the  high  grass  a  good  twenty  miles  from 
the  start  of  the  morning.  We  drew  the 
canoes  from  the  water,  made  our  beds 
of  blankets  inside,  lashed  our  paddles  to 
the  masts  for  ridge-poles,  thatched  our  lit- 
tle cabins  with  our  rubber  blankets,  hung 
our  mosquito-bars  beneath,  then  cooked 
and  ate  under  the  flare  of  our  camp-fire, 
and  sought  our  canoe-beds  for  that  sweet 
sleep  which  comes  of  weariness  of  body, 
but  not  of  mind,  under  the  bright  stars 
and  broad-faced  moon  shining  with  un- 
wonted clearness  in  that  clear  air. 

The  night  proved  very  cool.  Our  out- 
er garments,  wet  from  so  much  leaping 
in  and  out  of  the  canoes,  and  rolled  up 
for  storage  on  the  decks  over  night,  were 
found  in  the  early  morning  frozen  stiff, 
and  had  to  be  thawed  before  we  could 
unroll  them.  The  thermometer  register- 
ed 33°  after  six  o'clock,  and  frost  lay  upon 
all  our  surroundings. 

For  two  and  a  half  days  our  course  was 
down  a  stream  winding  gracefully  through 
a  broad  region  of  savanna  country,  oc- 
casionally varied  by  the  crossing  of  low 
sandy  ridges  beautifully  groved  by  lofty 
yellow  pines.  In  the  savannas  the  shores 
are  made  of  black  soil  drifted  in,  and 
forming,  with  the  dense  mass  of  grass- 
roots, a  tough  compound  in  which  the 
earthy  and  vegetable  parts  are  about 
equal,  while  the  tall  grass,  growing  per- 


CANOEING    ON  THE  HIGH  MISSISSIPPI. 


107 


pendicularly  from  the  shore,  makes  a 
stretch  of  walls  on  either  side,  the  mo- 
notony of  which  becomes  at  last  so  tire- 
some that  a  twenty-feet  hill,  a  boulder  as 
large  as  a  bushel  basket  or  a  tree  of  un- 
usual size  or  kind  becomes  specially  in- 
teresting. Standing  on  tiptoe  in  the  ca- 
noes, we  could  see  nothing  before  or 
around  us  but  a  boundless  meadow,  with 
here  and  there  a  clump  of  pines,  and 
before  and  behind  the  serpent-like  creep- 


ings  of  the  river.  The  only  physical  life 
to  be  seen  was  in  the  countless  ducks, 
chiefly  of  the  teal  and  mallard  varieties, 
a  few  small  birds  and  the  fish — lake-trout, 
grass-bass,  pickerel  and  sturgeon — con- 
stantly darting  under  and  around  us  or 
poised  motionless  in  water  so  clear  that 
every  fin  and  scale  was  seen  at  depths 
of  six  and  eight  feet.  The  ducks  were 
exceedingly  wild — something  not  easily 
accounted  for  in  that  untroubled  and  un- 


A  BLOW  ON  BALL  CLUB  LAKE. 


inhabited  country;  but  we  were  readily 
able  to  reinforce  our  staple  supplies  with 
juicy  birds  and  flaky  fish  broiled  over  a 
lively  fire  or  baked  under  the  glowing 
coals. 

By  noon  of  Friday,  the  i8th,  we  had 
come  to  an  average  width  in  the  river 
of  eighty  feet  and  a  sluggish  flow  of  six 
feet  in  depth.  We  halted  for  our  lunch  at 
the  mouth  of  the  South  (or  Plantagenian) 
Fork  of  the  Mississippi,  up  which  School- 
craft's  party  pursued  its  way  to  Itasca 
Lake.  Thence  a  short  run  brought  us 
suddenly  upon  Lake  Marquette,  a  love- 
ly sheet  of  water  with  clearly  -  defined 
and  solid  shores,  about  one  mile  by  two 
in  extent,  exactly  across  the  centre  of 
which  the  river  has  entrance  and  exit. 
Beyond  this,  a  short  mile  brought  us  to 
the  sandy  beaches  of  Bemidji  Lake,  the 
first  considerable  body  of  water  in  our 
downward  travel,  and  about  one  hundred 
and  twenty-five  miles,  as  the  river  winds, 

VOL.  XXVI.— 18 


from  Itasca.  The  real  name  of  the  lake,  as 
used  by  the  Indians  and  whites  adjacent, 
is  Benidjigemah,  meaning  "across  the 
lake,"  and  Bemidji  is  frequently  known 
as  Traverse  Lake.  It  is  a  lovely,  un- 
broken expanse,  about  seven  miles  long 
and  four  miles  wide.  Its  shores  are  of 
beautiful  white  sand,  gravel  and  boulders, 
reaching  back  to  open  pine-groved  bluffs. 
Our  shore-searchers  found  agate,  topaz, 
carnelian,  etc.  Our  approach  to  Bemidji 
had  been  invested  with  special  interest  as 
the  first  unmistakable  landmark  in  our 
lonely  wanderings,  and  as  the  home  of 
one  man — a  half-breed — the  only  human 
being  who  has  a  home  above  Cass  Lake. 
We  found  his  hut,  but  not  himself,  at  the 
river's  outlet.  The  lodge  is  neatly  built 
of  bark.  It  was  surrounded  by  good 
patches  of  corn,  potatoes,  wheat,  beans 
and  wild  raspberries.  There  is  a  stable 
for  a  horse  and  a  cow,  and  all  about 
were  the  conventional  traps  of  a  civil- 


io8 


CANOEING    ON   THE   HIGH  MISSISSIPPI. 


ized  biped  who  lives  upon  a  blending  of 
wit,  woodcraft  and  industry.  We  greatly 
wished  to  see  this  hermit,  whose  nearest 
neighbors  are  thirty  miles  away.  His 
dog  welcomed  us  with  all  the  passion  of 
canine  hunger  and  days  of  isolation,  but 
the  master  was  gone  to  Leech  Lake,  as 
we  afterward  found  from  his  Cass  Lake 
neighbors.  The  wind  favored  a  sail 
across  the  lake  —  a  welcome  variation 
from  our  hitherto  entirely  muscular  pro- 
pulsion— so  we  rigged  our  spars  and  can- 
vas, drifted  smoothly  out  into  the  trough 
of  the  lively  but  not  angry  waves,  and 
swept  swiftly  across  the  clear,  bright  lit- 
tle sea.  The  white  caps  dashed  over  our 
decks  and  a  few  sharp  puffs  half  careen- 
ed our  little  ships,  but  the  crossing  was 
safely  and  quickly  made.  It  was  yet 
only  mid-afternoon,  but  we  had  paddled 
steadily  and  made  good  progress  nearly 
four  days ;  so  we  went  into  early  camp  on 
a  bluff  overlooking  the  entire  lake,  did 
our  first  washing  of  travel-stained  gar- 
ments, brought  up  epistolary  arrearages, 
caught  two  fine  lake-trout  for  our  next 
breakfast  and  went  to  sound  sleep  in  the 
nine-and-a-half-o'clock  twilight. 

We  had  been  advised  that  we  should 
need  guides  in  finding  our  exits  from  the 
lakes,  which  were  obscured  by  reeds  and 
wild  rice.  But  no  guide  was  to  be  had, 
and  we  easily  found  our  own  way.  The 
river  at  the  outlet  of  Bemidji  Lake  is  about 
one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  wide,  very  shal- 
low, and  runs  swiftly  over  a  bed  of  large 
gravel  and  boulders  thickly  grown  with 
aquatic  grass  and  weeds.  We  had  gone 
but  a  little  way  when  a  rattling  ahead  told 
of  near  proximity  to  swift  and  rough  water, 
down  which  we  danced  at  a  speed  peril- 
ous to  the  boats,  but  not  to  our  personal 
safety.  The  river  was  unusually  low,  so 
that  the  many  bouldery  rapids  which  oth- 
erwise would  have  been  welcome  were 
now  only  the  vexatious  hints  of  what 
might  have  been.  The  shallow  foam 
dashed  down  each  rocky  ledge  without 
channel  or  choice,  and  whichever  way 
we  went  we  soon  wished  we  had  gone 
another.  The  rocks  were  too  many  for 
evasion,  and  the  swift  current  caught 
our  keels  upon  their  half- sunken  heads, 
which  held  us  fast  in  imminent  peril  of  a 


swamp  or  a  capsize,  our  only  safety  lying 
in  open  eyes,  quick  and  skilful  use  of  the 
paddle  or  a  sudden  leap  overboard  at  a 
critical  instant.  Added  to  these  difficul- 
ties, a  gusty  head  wind  and  lively  show- 
ers obscured  the  boulders  and  the  few 
open  channels.  So  we  went  on  all  the 
forenoon,  hampered  by  our  ponchos, 
poling,  drifting,  paddling  and  peering 
our  way,  blinded  by  wind  and  rain,  till 
we  came  to  the  last  of  these  labyrinths, 
liveliest  and  most  treacherous  of  all.  We 
were  soaked,  and  only  dreaded  an  upset 
for  our  provisions  and  equipments.  The 
rapid  was  long,  rough,  swift,  crooked. 
The  Kleiner  Fritz  led  the  way  into  the 
swirl,  and  was  caught,  a  hundred  feet 
down,  hard  and  fast  by  her  bow-keel, 
swung  around  against  another  boulder 
at  her  stern,  and  was  pinned  fast  in  no 
sort  of  danger,  the  water  boiling  under 
and  around  her,  while  her  captain  sat  at 
his  leisure  as  under  the  inevitable,  with 
a  don't-care-a-dash-ative  procrastination 
of  the  not-to-be-avoided  jump  overboard 
and  wade  for  deeper  water.  The  Betsy 
D.,  following  closely,  passed  the  Fritz 
with  a  rush  which  narrowly  escaped  the 
impalement  of  the  one  by  the  other's 
sharp  nose,  struck,  hung  for  a  moment, 
while  the  water  dashed  over  her  decks 
and  around  her  manhole,  then  washed 
loose  and  went  onward  safely  to  still 
water.  The  Fritz,  solid  as  the  Pyramids, 
beckoned  the  Hattie  to  come  on  without 
awaiting  the  questionable  time  of  the  lat- 
ter's  release ;  so  the  namesake  of  the 
hazel -eyed  and  brown -haired  Indiana 
girl  came  into  the  boil  and  bubble,  sailed 
gayly  by  the  troubles  of  the  others,  was 
gliding  on  toward  quiet  seas  under  her 
skipper's  gleeful  whoops,  when,  bang ! 
went  her  bow  upon  a  rock,  from  which 
a  moment's  work  freed  her :  tz-z-z-z-z-zip 
crunched  her  copper  nails  over  another 
just  under  water,  whence  she  went  bump- 
ing and  crunahing,  her  captain's  prudent 
and  energetic  guidance  knocking  his  flag 
one  way  and  his  wooden  hatch  the  other, 
till  finally  his  troubles  were  behind  him. 
Then  the  Fritz  began  to  stir.  Her  com- 
mander went  overboard  and  released  her, 
then  leaped  astride  her  deck  and  paddled 
cautiously  down  the  rift  and  slowly  down 


CANOEING    ON  THE  HIGH  MISSISSIPPI. 


109 


the  quieter  water  below,  howling  through 
the  pelting,  rain, 

"  Then  let  the  world  wag  along  as  it  will  : 
We'll  be  gay  and  happy  still," 

until  he  came  upon  his  comrades — one 
stumbling  about  over  the  blackened  roots 
of  grass  and  underbrush  from  a  recent  fire 
in  search  of  wood  for  our  needed  noon- 
day blaze  ;  the  other  with  wet  matches 


and  birch  bark,  and  imprecations  for 
which  there  was  ample  justification, 
vainly  seeking  that  without  which  hot  cof- 
fee and  broiled  bacon  cannot  be.  The 
Kleiner  Fritz's  haversack  supplied  dry 
matches,  fire  began  to  snap,  coffee  boil- 
ed, bacon  sputtered  on  the  ends  of  willow 
rods,  hard  tack  was  set  out  for  each  man, 
and  we  sat  upon  our  heels  for  lunch  un- 


-•'        - 


' ' ». v 
PEKAGEMA   FALLS. 


der  the  weeping  skies  and  willows,  com- 
paring notes  and  experiences. 

Thence,  three  hours  through  monoto- 
nous savanna  and  steady  rain  brought 
us  to  the  uppermost  bay  of  Cass  Lake, 
and  unexpectedly  upon  a  straggling  In- 
dian village.  We  bore  down  upon  it  with 
yells,  and  there  came  tumbling  out  from 
birch  lodges  and  bark  cabins  the  first  hu- 
man beings  we  had  seen  for  more  than 


ten  days,  in  all  the  ages,  sizes,  tints,  cos- 
tumes and  shades  of  filth  known  to  the 
Chippewas  of  the  interior  wilderness.  At 
first  they  were  a  little  shy  of  us,  but  we 
got  into  a  stumbling  conversation  with 
the  only  man  of  the  whole  lot  who  wore 
breeches  or  could  compass  a  little  Eng- 
lish, and  soon  the  dirty,  laughing,  won- 
dering, chattering  gang  came  down  to 
inspect  us  and  our,  to  them,  marvellous 


no 


CANOEING    ON  THE   HIGH  MISSISSIPPI. 


craft,  and  to  fully  enjoy  what  was  per- 
haps the  most  interesting  event  in  many 
a  long  month  of  their  uneventful  lives. 
Then  we  paddled  across  the  bay,  or  up- 
per lake,  out  into  the  broader  swells  of 
Cass  Lake  itself,  pulled  four  miles  across 
to  the  northernmost  point  of  Colcaspi,  or 
Grand  Island,  and  made  our  second  Sat- 
urday night's  camp  upon  its  white  sands 
at  or  very  near  the  spot  where  Schoolcraft 
and  his  party  had  encamped  in  July,  forty- 
seven  years  before.  The  landward  side 
of  the  beautiful  beach  is  skirted  by  an  al- 
most impenetrable  jungle.  We  had  fre- 
quently seen  traces,  old  and  new,  of  deer, 
moose,  bears  and  smaller  animals,  but 
had  seen  none  of  the  animals  themselves 
save  one  fine  deer,  and  our  sleep  had 
been  wholly  undisturbed  by  prowlers ; 
so  we  sank  to  rest  on  Grand  Island  with 
no  fears  of  invasion.  At  midnight  the 
occupant  of  the  Kleiner  Fritz  was  aroused 
by  a  scratching  upon  the  side  of  the  ca- 
noe and  low,  whining  howls.  He  partially 
arose,  confused  and  half  asleep,  in  doubt 
as  to  the  character  of  his  disturber,  which 
went  forward,  climbed  upon  the  deck  and 
confronted  him  through  the  narrow  gable 
of  his  rubber  roof  with  a  pair  of  fiery  eyes, 
which  to  his  startled  imagination  seemed 
like  the  blazing  of  a  comet  in  duplicate. 
The  owner  of  the  eyes  was  at  arm's  length, 
with  nothing  but  a  mosquito-bar  interven- 
ing. Then  the  eyes  suddenly  disappeared, 
and  the  scratching  and  howling  were  re- 
newed in  a  determined  and  partially  suc- 
cessful effort  to  get  between  the  oyj&rlap- 
ping  rubber  blankets  to  the  captaiiffe  the 
Fritz.  This  movement  was  defeated  by  a 
quick  grasp  of  the  edges  of  the  blankets, 
and  while  the  animal  was  snarling  and 
pawing  at  the  shielded  fist  of  his  intend- 
ed victim  lusty  shouts  went  out  for  the 
camp  to  arouse  and  see  what  the  enemy 
might  be,  as  the  Fritz  was  unwilling  to 
uncover  to  his  unknown  assailant.  The 
Hattie's  skipper,  hard  by,  saw  that  some- 
thing unusual  was  on  hand,  peered  out, 
and  so  increased  the  uproar  as  to  draw 
the  adversary's  attack.  Then  the  Betsy 
bore  down  upon  us  all  just  as  the  hungry 
and  persistent  beast  was  crouching  for  a 
leap  at  the  Hattie's  jugular,  the  loud  bang 
of  a  Parker  rifle  rang  out  upon  the  stillness, 


and  a  fine,  muscular  lynx  lay  dead  at  the 
Cincinnati  Nimrod's  feet.  The  animal's 
trail  showed  that  he  had  prowled  around 
our  bacon  and  hard  tack  in  contempt,  had 
inspected  the  Betsy's  commander  as  he 
lay  on  the  sand  in  his  blanket  and  under 
a  huge  yellow  mosquito-bar,  but  had  evi- 
dently concluded  that  any  man  who  could 
snore  as  that  man  usually  did  was  not  a 
good  subject  for  attack,  and  so  came  on 
down  the  beach  in  search  of  blood  less 
formidably  defended.  We  renewed  our 
fire,  examined  our  dead  disturber,  and 
turned  in  again  to  sound  sleep  under  the 
assuring  suggestion  of  the  Cincinnati  man 
that,  whatever  else  the  jungle  might  hide, 
two  cannon-balls  rarely  enter  the  same 
hole. 

Our  heavy  and  late  slumber  was  broken 
by  the  laugh  and  chatter  of  two  Indian 
women  and  a  child,  who  in  a  bark  canoe 
a  little  way  from  shore  were  regarding 
our  camp  in  noisy  curiosity.  My  blanket 
suddenly  thrown  aside  and  a  good-morn- 
ing in  English  took  them  by  surprise,  and 
they  paddled  away  vigorously  toward  a 
group  of  lodges  some  four  miles  across 
the  lake.  In  the  glorious  sunset  of  a 
restful  Sunday  we  crossed  the  glassy  lake 
to  its  outlet,  taking  two  fine  lake-trout  of 
four  pounds  as  we  went,  and  glided  out 
of  as  beautiful  a  lake  as  sun  and  moon 
shine  upon  into  the  swift,  steady,  deep 
current  of  what  for  the  first  time  in  its 
long  way  Gulfward  bears  the  full  dignity 
of  a  river.  Its  green  banks  are  some  two 
hundred  feet  apart.  The  water  has  a 
regular  depth  of  from  five  to  six  feet,  and 
all  the  way  to  Lake  Winnibegoshish  af- 
fords an  unbroken  channel  for  a  medium- 
sized  Western  steamer.  The  shores,  al- 
ternating between  low,  firm,  grass-grown 
earth  and  benches  of  luxuriant  green 
twenty  feet  high,  grown  over  with  open 
groves  of  fine  yellow  pines,  were  so  beau- 
tiful and  regular  that  we  could  hardly 
persuade  ourselves  that  we  should  not 
see,  as  we  rounded  the  graceful  curves, 
some  fine  old  mansion  of  which  these 
turfed  knolls  and  charming  groves  seem- 
ed the  elegant  lawns  and  parks.  Our  fleet 
unanimously  voted  the  river  between  Cass 
and  Winnibegoshish  Lakes  the  most  beau- 
tiful of  all  its  upper  course. 


CANOEING    ON  THE   HIGH  MISSISSIPPI. 


We  began  our  second  week  upon  the 
Mississippi  with  a  breakfast  of  baked  lake- 
trout,  slapjacks,  maple  syrup  and  coffee, 
which  embodied  the  culinary  skill  of  the 
entire  fleet :  then  started  for  Winnibego- 
shish  in  the  height  of  good  spirits  and 
physical  vigor.  In  one  of  our  easy,  five- 
miles-an-hour  swings  around  the  graceful 
curves  we  were  met  by  a  duck  flying  close 
over  our  heads  with  noisy  quacks.  A 
little  farther  we  came  upon  the  cause  of 
the  bird's  lively  flight  in  an  Indian  boy, 


not  above  nine  years  old,  paddling  a  large 
birch  canoe,  over  the  gunwale  of  which 
peeped  the  muzzle  of  a  sanguinary-look- 
ing old  shot-gun.  The  diminutive  sports- 
man was  for  a  moment  dashed  by  our 
sudden  and  novel  appearance,  but,  from 
the  way  he  urged  his  canoe  and  from  the 
determined  set  of  his  dirty  face,  we  had 
small  room  to  doubt  the  ultimate  fate  of 
the  flying  mallard.  Another  curve  brought 
us  in  sight  of  the  home  of  the  little  sav- 
age, where  a  dozen  Indians,  in  all  stages 


BARN   BLUFF   (C.,  M.  A  ST.  P.  R.  R.). 


of  nudity,  were  encamped  upon  a  high 
bluff.  A  concerted  whoop  from  our  fleet 
brought  all  of  them  from  their  smoky 
lodges,  and  we  swept  by  under  their  won- 
dering eyes  and  exclamations.  Then 
the  high  land  was  left  behind,  and  half 
an  hour  between  low  meadows  brought 
us  out  upon  the  yellow  sands  and  heav- 
ing swells  of  Lake  Winnibegoshish,  the 
largest  in  the  Mississippi  chain,  the  di- 
mensions of  which,  including  its  lovely 
north-eastern  bay,  are  about  eleven  by 
thirteen  miles.  The  name  signifies  "  mis- 
erable dirty-water  lake,"  but  save  a  faint 
tinge  of  brown  its  waters  are  as  pure  and 
sparkling  as  those  of  any  of  the  upper 
lakes.  Our  entrance  upon  Winnibego- 
shish was  under  a  driving  storm  of  wind 
and  mist,  against  which  we  paddled  three 


miles^to  Duck  Point,  a  slender  finger  of 
wooded  sand  and  boulder  reaching  half 
a  mue  out,  at  whose  junction  with  the 
main  land  is  a  miserable  village  of  most 
villainous  -  looking  Indians.  One  man 
alone  could  speak  a  little  English,  and 
through  him  we  negotiated  for  replenish- 
ing our  provisions.  Meantime,  the  storm 
freshened  and  embargoed  an  eight-mile 
journey  across  an  open  and  boiling  sea ; 
so  we  paddled  to  the  outermost  joint  upon 
the  jutting  finger  for  a  bivouac  under  the 
trees,  waiting  the  hoped-for  lull  of  wind 
and  wave  at  sunset.  The  smoke  of  our 
fire  invited  to  our  camp  the  hungry  na- 
tives, who  dogged  us  at  every  turn  all 
the  long  afternoon,  in  squads  of  all  num- 
bers under  twenty,  and  of  all  ages  be- 
tween two  and  seventy.  One  club-footed 


112 


CANOEING    ON  THE  HIGH  MISSISSIPPI. 


and  club -handed  fellow  of  forbidding 
visage  protested  with  hand  and  head  that 
he  neither  spoke  nor  understood  our  ver- 
nacular. Later,  he  sidled  up  to  the  Hat- 
tie's  skipper  and  said  in  an  earnest  sotto 
voce,  "  Gib  me  dime."  Denied  the  dime, 
lie  intimated  to  the  Betsy  that  he  doted 
on  bacon,  of  which  we  were  each  broiling 
a  slice.  The  Betsy's  captain  was  bent 
upon  securing  an  Indian  fish-spear,  and 
he  pantomimed  to  the  twinkling  eyes  of 
the  copper-skin  that  he  would  invest  a 
generous  chunk  of  bacon  in  barbed  iron. 
The  Indian  strode  back  to  his  village,  and 
soon  returned  with  the  spear,  which  he 
transferred  to  the  Betsy's  stores. 

The  conventional  Indian  maiden  be- 
sieged the  bachelor  two-thirds  of  our  ex- 
pedition with  all  the  wiles  that  could  be 
embodied  in  a  comely  and  clean-calicoed 
charmer  up  in  the  twenties,  who  finally 
bore  away  from  the  Betsy's  private  stores  a 
fan  of  stunning  colors  and  other  odds  and 
ends  of  a  St.  Paul  notion-store ;  while  the 
guileless  commander  of  the  Hattie,  whose 
cumulative  years  should  have  taught  him 
better,  and  whose  thinly-clad  brain-shel- 
ter and  disreputable  attempt  at  sailor  cos- 
tume should  have  blunted  all  feminine 
javelins,  surrendered  to  the  ugliest  old 
septuagenarian  in  the  village,  and  sent 
her  heart  away  rejoicing  in  the  ownership 
of  a  policeman's  whistle  courted  by  her 
leering  eyes  and  already  smirched  by  her 
dirty  lips,  together  with  a  stock  of  tea, 
crackers  and  bacon  for  which  her  ex- 
panded corporosity  evinced  no  imminent 
need.  At  last  rid  of  our  importunate  ac- 
quaintances, we  turned  in  for  a  sleep, 
which  we  resolved  should  be  broken  at 
the  first  moment,  dark  or  light,  when  we 
might  cross  the  lake.  Before  daylight 
the  Betsy's  resonant  call  awoke  us,  and 
in  the  earliest  gray  we  paddled  out  upon 
a  heavy  but  not  foaming  sea,  and  after  two 
and  a  half  hours  of  monotonous  splash- 
ing in  the  trough  of  the  waves  landed  for 
breakfast  on  the  eastern  shore,  whence 
we  crossed  a  lovely  bay  and  passed  out 
once  more  upon  the  river. 

A  mile  on  our  way  we  came  to  the 
prettiest  of  the  many  Indian  burying- 
grounds  which  we  saw  now  and  then. 
Formerly,  the  Indians  deposited  their 


dead  upon  rude  scaffolds  well  up  in 
the  air.  Now  they  seek  high  ground 
and  place  the  bodies  of  the  departed  in 
shallow  graves,  over  which  they  build 
little  wooden  houses  a  foot  or  two  high 
with  gabled  roofs,  and  mark  each  with  a 
white  flag  raised  upon  a  pole  a  few  feet 
above  the  sleeper's  head.  In  this  neigh- 
borhood we  inquired  of  a  stalwart  brave 
concerning  our  proximity  to  a  portage  by 
means  of  which  a  short  walk  over  to  a 
small  lake  near  the  head  of  Ball  Club 
Lake  and  a  pull  of  six  miles  down  the 
latter  would  bring  us  out  again  into  the 
river,  and  save  a  tedious  voyage  of  twen- 
ty-five to  thirty  miles  through  a  broad 
savanna.  The  Indian  in  his  old  birch 
canoe  joined  our  fleet,  and  led  us  to  the 
beginning  of  the  portage  near  the  foot  of 
Little  Winnipeg  Lake.  We  had  carried 
two  canoes  and  all  the  baggage  over  to 
the  water  on  the  other  side  of  a  sandy 
ridge,  leaving  only  the  Kleiner  Fritz  to 
be  brought,  when  our  guide  and  packer, 
with  a  preliminary  grunt,  said  "  Money  ?" 
inquiring  how  much  we  intended  to  pay 
him.  He  had  worked  hard  for  four 
hours,  for  which  we  tried  to  tell  him  that 
we  should  pay  him  one  dollar  when  he 
should  bring  over  the  remaining  canoe ; 
but  we  could  not  make  him  understand 
what  a  dollar  was.  We  then  laid  down, 
one  after  another,  four  silver  quarter- 
dollars  and  two  bars  of  tobacco ;  where- 
upon he  gave  a  satisfied  grunt  and  an 
affirmative  nod,  disappeared  in  the  for- 
est, and  in  less  than  an  hour  returned 
with  the  Fritz  upon  his  steaming  shoul- 
ders, having  covered  more  than  three 
miles  in  the  round  trip. 

As  we  pulled  out  upon  Ball  Club  Lake 
a  gentle  stern  wind  bade  us  hoist  our 
canvas  for  an  easy  and  pleasant  sail  of 
six  or  seven  miles  down  to  the  open  river. 
We  glided  out  gayly  before  a  gentle  breeze, 
and  sailed  restfully  over  the  little  rippling 
waves,  our  speed  increasing,  though  we 
hardly  noted  the  signs  of  a  gale  driv- 
ing after  us  over  the  hills  behind.  The 
Hattie  was  leading  well  over  to  the  port 
shore,  the  Fritz  bearing  straight  down  the 
middle,  with  the  Betsy  on  the  starboard 
quarter,  when  the  storm  struck  us  with  a 
vigor  that  increased  with  each  gust.  The 


CANOEING    ON   THE  HIGH  MISSISSIPPI. 


black  clouds  swished  over  our  heads, 
seemingly  almost  within  reach  of  our 
paddles.  The  sails  tugged  at  the  sheets 
with  tiresome  strength.  The  canoes 
now  plunged  into  a  wave  at  the  bows 
and  were  now  swept  by  others  astern,  as 
they  rushed  forward  like  mettlesome  colts 
or  hung  poised  upon  or  within  a  rolling 
swell,  until,  with  the  increasing  gale,  the 
roaring  waves  dashed  entirely  over  decks 
and  men.  The  Hattie  bore  away  to  lee- 
ward and  rode  the  gale  finely,  but  at  last 
prudence  bade  the  furling  of  her  sail.  Ex- 
pecting no  such  blow,  the  Fritz  had  not 


taken  the  precaution  to  arrange  her  rub- 
ber apron  for  keeping  out  the  waves  from 
her  manhole,  and  now,  between  holding 
the  sheet,  steering  and  watching  the  gus- 
ty wind,  neither  hand  nor  eye  could  be 
spared  for  defensive  preparations ;  so  her 
skipper  struck  sail  and  paddled  for  the 
westward  shore,  with  the  Betsy  lunging 
and  plunging  close  behind.  We  on  the 
windward  side  sought  the  smoother  water 
within  the  reeds,  and  drove  along  rapid- 
ly under  bare  poles,  out  of  sight  of  the 
Hattie,  separated  at  nightfall  by  miles  of 
raging  sea.  We  rode  before  the  wind  to 


CHURCH   AMONG  THE  PINES   (BRAINERD). 


the  foot  of  the  lake,  where  we  were  con- 
fronted by  the  alternative  of  a  toilsome  and 
unsafe  paddle  around  the  coast  against  the 
storm's  full  force,  or  camping  in  mutual 
anxiety  as  to  the  fate  of  the  unseen  party 
— a  by  no  means  pleasant  sedative  for  a 
night's  rest  upon  wild  and  uninhabited 
shores.  We  decided  upon  the  pull,  and 
labored  on,  now  upon  the  easy  swells 
within  the  reeds,  and  then  tossing  upon 
the  crests  in  open  places,  until  at  last  a 
whirling  column  of  smoke  a  mile  ahead 
gave  us  assurance  of  the  Hattie's  safety. 
The  reunited  fleet  paddled  down  into  the 
Mississippi,  enlivening  the  darkness  until 
we  could  find  camping -ground  beyond 
the  marshes  by  a  comparison  of  storm- 
experiences  and  congratulations  that  we 
had  escaped  the  bottom  of  the  lake. 


Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day, 
after  a  monotonous  pull  through  the  in- 
terminable windings  of  Eagle  Nest  Sa- 
vanna, we  swept  around  a  curve  of  high 
tillable  land  upon  the  uppermost  farm  cul- 
tivated by  whites,  eighteen  miles  above 
Pekagema  Falls,  and  one  hundred  and 
seventy  miles  by  river  beyond  the  North- 
ern Pacific  Railroad.  Thomas  Smith  and 
his  partner,  farming,  herding  and  lumber- 
ing at  the  mouth  of  Vermilion  River,  were 
the  first  white  men  we  had  seen  since  July 
6,  seventeen  days,  and  with  them  we  en- 
joyed a  chat  in  straight  English.  Nine 
miles  below  we  camped  at  River  Camp, 
the  second  farm  downward,  where  we 
were  kindly  supplied  with  vegetables  and 
with  fresh  milk,  which  seemed  to  us  then 
like  the  nectar  of  the  gods.  Thursday, 


CANOEING    ON   THE  HIGH  MISSISSIPPI. 


24th,  we  reached  Pekagema  Falls,  a  wild 
pitch  of  some  twenty  feet,  with  rapids 
above  and  below,  down  which  the  strong 
volume  of  the  river  plunges  with  terrible 
force  in  picturesque  beauty.  A  carry 
around  the  falls  and  three  miles  of  pad- 
dling brought  us  to  Grand  Rapids,  and 
we  rushed  like  the  wind  into  the  whirl 
and  boil  of  its  upper  ledge,  down  the 
steep  and  crooked  incline  for  two  hun- 
dred yards,  out  of  which  we  shot  up  to 
the  bank  under  a  little  group  of  houses 
where  Warren  Potter  and  Knox  &  Wake- 
field  conduct  the  uppermost  post-office 
and  stores  upon  the  river.  We  speedily 
closed  our  partly -completed  letters  and 
posted  them  for  a  pack -mail  upon  an 
Indian's  back  sixty-five  miles  to  Aitkin, 
while  we  should  follow  the  tortuous  river 
thither  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles. 
We  had  hoped  for  a  rest  and  lift  hence 
to  Aitkin  upon  the  good  steamboat  City 
of  Aitkin,  which  makes  a  few  lonely  trips 
each  spring  and  fall,  but  the  low  water  had 
prevented  her  return  from  her  last  voyage, 
made  ten  days  before  our  arrival.  Our 
stores  replenished,  after  two  hours  of  rest 
we  started  again  in  a  driving  rain,  and 
under  the  hearty  ban  -voyage  of  a  dozen 
frontiersmen  and  Indians  shot  the  two 
lively  lower  ledges  of  Grand  Rapids, 
and  came  out  on  smooth  water,  whose 
sluggish  flow,  broken  by  a  very  few  rifts, 
bore  us  thence  one  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  to  the  next  white  settlement  at  Ait- 
kin. The  entire  distance  lies  through  low 
bottom-lands  heavily  timbered,  and  our 
course  was  drearily  monotonous.  We  left 
Grand  Rapids  at  mid-afternoon  of  Thurs- 
day, July  24,  and  camped  on  Friday  night 
four  miles  below  Swan  River.  Late  on 
Saturday  we  passed  Sandy  Lake  River 
—  where  formerly  were  a  large  Indian 
population  and  an  important  trading - 
post,  founded  and  for  many  years  con- 
ducted by  Mr.  Aitkin,  who  was  promi- 
nently identified  with  the  early  history 
of  that  region,  and  is  now  commemorated 
in  the  town  and  county  bearing  his  name, 
but  where  now  remain  only  one  or  two 
deserted  cabins  and  a  few  Indian  graves, 
over  which  white  flags  were  flapping  in 
the  sultry  breeze — and  camped  two  miles 
below.  Monday's  afternoon  brought  us 


to  Aitkin,  so  that  we  had  covered  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  miles  of  sluggish  channel, 
at  low  summer  tide,  in  three  working  days. 
We  had  been  four  weeks  beyond  possi- 
bility of  home-tidings,  and  we  swooped 
down  upon  the  disciple  of  Morse  in  that 
far-away  village  with  work  that  kept  him 
clicking  for  an  hour.  We  were  hand- 
somely taken  in  by  Warren  Potter,  a  pio- 
neer and  an  active  and  intelligent  factor 
in  the  business  of  that  region,  in  whose 
tasteful  home  we  for  the  first  time  in  a 
month  sat  down  and  ate  in  Christian  fash- 
ion under  a  civilized  roof.  Having  lost 
a  week  in  the  farther  wilderness,  we  de- 
cided to  take  the  rail  to  Minneapolis,  that 
we  might  enjoy  the  beautiful  river  thence 
to  Lake  Pepin,  yet  reach  our  homes  with- 
in the  appointed  time.  Half  a  day  was 
enjoyed  at  Brainerd,  the  junction  of  the 
Northern  Pacific  main  line  with  the  St. 
Paul  branch,  and  the  most  important  town 
between  Lake  Superior  and  the  Missouri. 
It  is  beautifully  built  and  picturesquely 
scattered  among  the  pines  upon  the  Mis- 
sissippi's eastern  bank,  not  far  above  Crow 
Wing  River.  Thence  we  were  carried 
over  the  splendid  railway,  passing  the 
now  abandoned  Fort  Ripley,  winding 
along  or  near  to  the  river  and  across 
the  wheat-fields,  through  the  busy  and 
beautiful  city  of  mills,  below  St.  Antho- 
ny's roar  and  down  the  dancing  rapids 
to  a  pleasant  island -camp  between  the 
green-and-gray  bluffs  that  bind  Minne- 
apolis to  Minnehaha  —  the  first  really 
fine  scenery  this  side  of  Itasca's  solitude. 
A  delightful  paddle  under  a  bright  morn- 
ing sun  and  over  swift,  clear  water  car- 
ried us  to  the  little  brook  whose  laughter, 
three-quarters  of  a  mile  up  a  deep  ravine, 
has  been  sent  by  Longfellow  rippling  out- 
ward to  all  the  world.  We  rounded  the 
great  white -faced  sand -rock  that  marks 
the  outlet,  paddled  as  far  as  we  might  up 
the  quiet  stream,  beached  the  canoes  un-' 
der  the  shade  of  the  willows,  walked  a  lit- 
tle way  up  the  brook,  past  a  deserted  mill, 
under  cool  shadows  of  rock  and  wood,  and 
enjoyed  for  half  an  hour  the  simple,  se- 
ductive charms  of  the  "  Laughing  Wa- 
ter." Then  we  tramped  back  to  our  boats, 
floated  down  under  the  old  walls  of  Fort 
Snelling  and  between  the  chalk  -  white 


CANOEING    ON  THE   HIGH  MISSISSIPPI. 


cliffs  which  line  the  broadening  river, 
until  we  came  in  sight  of  St.  Paul's  roofs 
and  spires,  and  soon  were  enjoying  the 
thoughtful  care  and  generous  hospitality 
of  the  Minnesota  Boat  Club.  Another 
day's  close  brought  us  to  Red  Wing, 
backgrounded  by  the  green  bluffs  and 
reddened  cliffs  of  its  bold  hills.  One 
more  pull  down  the  now  broad  and  isl- 


anded stream  carried  us  to  Lake  Pepin, 
one  of  the  loveliest  mirrors  that  reflects 
the  sun,  and  to  Frontenac's  white  beach. 
The  keels  of  the  Fritz,  the  Betsy  and  the 
Hattie  crunched  the  sands  at  the  end  of 
their  long  journey,  the  boats  were  shunted 
back  upon  the  railway,  and  their  weary 
owners  were  soon  dozing  in  restful  for- 
getfulness  upon  the  couches  of  the  un- 


END  OF  VOYAGE  (FRONTENAC,  LAKE  PEPIN). 


surpassed  Chicago,  Milwaukee   and  St. 
Paul  line. 

Beyond  reasonable  doubt,  our  party  is 
the  only  one  that  ever  pushed  its  way  by 
boat  up  the  entire  course  of  the  farther- 
most Mississippi.  Beyond  any  question, 
our  canoes  were  the  first  wooden  boats 
that  ever  traversed  those  waters.  School- 
craft,  in  1832,  came  all  the  way  down  the 
upper  river  without  portages,  but  he  had 
very  high  water  and  many  helpers,  in 
spite  of  which  one  of  his  birch  canoes  was 
wrecked.  The  correspondent  of  a  New 
York  newspaper  claimed  the  complete 


trip  in  his  canoe  some  five  years  ago, 
but  his  own  guide  and  others  told  us 
that  his  Dolly  Varden  never  was  above 
Brainerd,  and  that  his  portages  above 
were  frequent.  So  we  may  well  feel  an 
honest  pride  in  our  Rushton-built  Rob 
Roys  and  our  hard  knocks,  and  may 
remember  with  pardonable  gratification 
that  upon  our  own  feet  and  keels  we  have 
penetrated  the  solitudes  lying  around  the 
source  of  the  world's  most  remarkable 
river,  where  no  men  live  and  where,  prob- 
ably, not  more  than  two-score  white  men 
have  ever  been. 


A  CHAPTER  OF  AMERICAN  EXPLORATION. 


GLEN  CARON. 


r  I  "HOSE  adventurous  gentlemen  who 

-I-     derive  exhilaration  from  peril,  and 

extract  febrifuge  for  the  high  pressure 

of  a  too  exuberant  constitution  from  the 

difficulties  of  the  Alps,  cannot  find  such 

peaks  as  the  Aiguille  Verte  and  the  Mat- 

terhorn,  with  their  friable  and  precipitous 

116 


cliffs,  among  the  Rocky  Mountains.  The 
geological  processes  have  been  gentler 
in  evolving  the  latter  than  the  former, 
and  in  the  proper  season  summits  not 
less  elevated  nor  less  splendid  or  com- 
prehensive than  that  of  the  Matterhorn, 
upon  which  so  many  lives  have  been  de- 


A    CHAPTER    OF  AMERICAN  EXPLORATION. 


117 


fiantly  wasted,  may  be  attained  without 
any  great  degree  of  danger  or  fatigue. 
All  but  the  apex  may  often  be  reached 
in  the  saddle.  The  bergschrund  with  its 
fragile  lip  of  ice,  the  crevasse  with  its 
treacherous  bridges,  and  the  avalanche 
which  an  ill-timed  footstep  starts  with 
overwhelming  havoc,  do  not  threaten  the 
explorer  of  the  Western  mountains  ;  and 
ordinarily  he  passes  from  height  to  height 
— from  the  base  with  its  wreaths  of  ever- 
greens to  the  zone  where  vegetation  is 
limited  to  the  gnarled  dwarf-pine,  from 
the  foot-hills  to  the  basin  of  the  crisp 
alpine  lake  far  above  the  life -limits — 
without  once  having  to  scale  a  cliff,  sup- 
posing, of  course,  that  he  has  chosen  the 
best  path.  The  trail  may  be  narrow  at 
times,  with  nothing  between  it  and  a  gulf, 
and  it  may  be  pitched  at  an  angle  that 
compels  the  use  of  "all-fours  ;"  but  with 
patience  and  discretion  the  ultimate  peak 
is  conquered  without  rope-ladder  or  ice- 
axe,  and  the  vastness  of  the  world  be- 
low, gray  and  cold  at  some  hours,  and 
at  others  lighted  with  a  splendor  which 
words  cannot  transcribe,  is  revealed  to 
the  adventurer  as  satisfaction  for  his 
toil. 

But,  though  what  may  be  called  the 
pure  mountain-peaks  do  not  entail  the 
same  perils  and  difficulties  as  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Alpine  Club  discover  in  Italy, 
France,  Switzerland  and  Germany,  the 
volcanic  cones  and  canon -walls  of  the 
West  have  an  unstable  verticality  which, 
when  it  is  not  absolutely  insurmountable, 
is  more  difficult  than  the  top  of  the  Mat- 
terhorn  itself;  and  though  the  various 
expeditions  under  Wheeler,  Powell,  King 
and  Hayden  have  not  had  Aiguilles  Vertes 
to  oppose  them,  they  have  been  confront- 
ed by  obstacles  which  could  only  be  over- 
come by  as  much  courage  as  certain  of 
the  clubmen  have  required  in  their  most 
celebrated  exploits.  Indeed,  nothing  in 
the  journals  of  the  Alpine  Club  compares 
in  the  interest  of  the  narrative  or  the  peril 
of  the  undertaking  with  Major  Powell's 
exploration  of  the  canons  of  the  Colorado, 
which,  though  its  history  has  become  fa- 
miliar to  many  readers  through  the  official 
report,  gathers  significance  in  contrast 
with  all  other  Western  expeditions,  and 


stands  out  as  an  achievement  of  extraor- 
dinary daring. 

The  Colorado  is  formed  by  the  junction 
of  the  Grand  and  Green  Rivers.  The 
Grand  has  its  source  in  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains five  or  six  miles  west  of  Long's  Peak, 
and  the  Green  heads  in  the  Wind  River 
Mountains  near  Fremont's  Peak.  Uniting 
in  the  Colorado,  they  end  as  turbid  floods 
in  the  Gulf  of  California,  a  goal  which 
they  reach  through  gorges  set  deep  in  the 
bosom  of  the  earth  and  bordered  by  a 
region  where  the  mutations  of  Nature  are 
in  visible  process.  In  all  the  world  there 
is  no  other  river  like  this.  The  phenom- 
enal in  form  predominates :  the  water  has 
grooved  a  channel  for  itself  over  a  mile 
below  the  surrounding  country,  which  is 
a  desert  uninhabited  and  uninhabitable, 
terraced  with  long  series  of  cliffs  or  mesa- 
fronts,  verdureless,  voiceless  and  unbeau- 
tiful.  It  is  a  land  of  soft,  crumbling  soil 
and  parched  rock,  dyed  with  strange  col- 
ors and  broken  into  fantastic  shapes.  Na- 
ture is  titanic  and  mad :  the  sane  and 
alleviating  beauty  of  fertility  is  displaced 
by  an  arid  and  inanimate  desolateness, 
which  glows  with  alien  splendor  in  evan- 
escent conditions  of  the  atmosphere,  but 
which  in  those  moments  when  the  sun 
casts  a  fatuous  light  upon  it  is  more  op- 
pressive in  its  influence  upon  the  observer 
than  when  the  blaze  of  high  noon  exposes 
all.of  its  unyielding  harshness.  To  the 
feeling  of  desolation  which  comes  over 
one  in  such  a  region  as  this  a  quickened 
sense  and  apprehension  of  the  super- 
natural are  added,  and  we  seem  to  be 
invaders  of  a  border-land  between  the 
solid  earth  and  phantasy.  Nature  is  dis- 
traught ;  and  so  much  has  man  subordi- 
nated and  possessed  her  elsewhere  that 
here,  where  existence  is  defeated  by  the 
absolute  impossibility  of  sustenance,  a 
poignant  feeling  of  her  imperfection  steals 
over  us  and  weighs  upon  the  mind. 

Perhaps  no  portion  of  the  earth's  sur- 
face is  more  irremediably  sterile,  none 
more  hopelessly  lost  to  human  occupa- 
tion, and  yet,  an  eminent  geologist  has 
said,  it  is  the  wreck  of  a  region  once  rich 
and  beautiful,  changed  and  impoverished 
by  the  deepening  of  its  draining  streams 
— the  most  striking  and  suggestive  ex- 


n8 


A    CHAPTER    OF  AMERICAN  EXPLORATION. 


ample  of  over-drainage  of  which  we  have 
any  knowledge.  Though  valueless  to  the 
agriculturist,  dreaded  and  shunned  by 
the  emigrant,  the  miner  and  the  trapper, 


the  Colorado  plateau  is  a  paradise  to  the 
geologist,  for  nowhere  else  are  the  secrets 
of  the  earth's  structure  so  fully  revealed 
as  here.  Winding  through  it  is  the  pro 


SWALLOW   CAVE,   GREEN   RIV 


found  chasm  within  which  the  river  flows 
from  three  thousand  to  six  thousand  feet 
below  the  general  level  for  five  hundred 
miles  in  unimaginable  solitude  and  gloom, 
and  the  perpendicular  crags  and  precipices 


which  imprison  the  stream  exhibit  with 
unusual  clearness  the  zoological  and  phys- 
ical history  of  the  land. 

It  was  this  chasm,  with  its  cliffs  of  un- 
paralleled  magnitude  and  its  turbulent 


A    CHAPTER    OF  AMERICAN  EXPLORATION. 


119 


waters,  that  Major  Powell  explored,  and 
no  chapter  of  Western  adventure  is  more 
interesting  than  his  experiences.  His 
starting-point  was  Green  River  City,  Wy- 
oming Territory,  which  is  now  reached 
from  the  East  by  the  Union  Pacific  Rail- 
way. On  the  second  morning  out  from 


Omaha  the  passengers  find  themselves 
whirling  through  sandy  yellowish  gullies, 
and,  having  completed  their  toilettes  amid 
the  flying  dust,  they  emerge  at  about  eight 
o'clock  in  a  basin  of  gigantic  and  abnor- 
mal forms,  upon  which  lie  bands  of  dull 
gold,  pink,  orange  and  vermilion.  In 


INDIANS   NEAR   FLAMING   GORGE   (SAI-AR   AND    FAMILY). 


some  instances  the  massive  sandstones 
have  curious  architectural  resemblances, 
as  if  they  had  been  designed  and  scaled 
on  a  draughting-board,  but  they  have  been 
so  oddly  worked  upon  by  the  elements, 
by  the  attrition  of  their  own  disintegrated 
particles  and  the  intangible  carving  of 
water,  that  while  one  block  stands  out 
as  a  castle  embattled  on  a  lofty  precipice, 


another  looms  up  in  the  quivering  air 
with  a  quaint  likeness  to  something  nei- 
ther human  nor  divine.  This  is  where 
the  Overland  traveller  makes  his  first  ac- 
quaintance with  those  erosions  which  are 
a  characterizing  element  of  Western  sce- 
nery. A  broad  stream  flows  easily  through 
the  valley,  and  acquires  a  vivid  emerald 
hue  from  the  shales  in  its  bed,  whence  its 


I2O 


A    CHAPTER    OF  AMERICAN  EXPLORATION. 


name  is  derived.  Under  one  of  the  high- 
est buttes  a  small  town  of  newish  wood- 
en buildings  is  scattered,  and  this  is  am- 
bitiously designated  Green  River  City, 
which,  if  for  nothing  else,  is  memorable 


to  the  tourist  for  the  excellence  of  the 
breakfast  which  the  tavern-keeper  serves. 
But  it  was  from  here,  on  May  28,  1869, 
that  Major  Powell  started  down  the  canon 
on  that  expedition  from  which  the  few 


miners,  stock  -  raisers  and  tradespeople 
who  saw  his  departure  never  expected  to 
see  him  return  alive.  His  party  consist- 
ed of  nine  men — J.  C.  Sumner  and  Wil- 
liam H.  Dunn,  both  of  whom  had  been 
trappers  and  guides  in  the  Rocky  Moun- 


tains ;  Captain  Powell,  a  veteran  of  the 
civil  war ;  Lieutenant  Bradley,  also  of  the 
army ;  O.  G.  Rowland,  formerly  a  print- 
er and  country  editor,  who  had  become  a 
hunter;  Seneca  Rowland ;  Frank  Good- 
man ;  Andrew  Hall,  a  Scotch  boy ;  and 


A    CHAPTER    OF  AMERICAN  EXPLORATION. 


121 


"Billy  "  Hawkins,  the  cook,  who  had  been 
a  soldier,  a  teamster  and  a  trapper.  These 
were  carefully  selected  for  their  reputed 
courage  and  powers  of  endurance.  The 
boats  in  which  they  travelled  were  four 
in  number,  and  were  built  upon  a  mod- 
el which,  as  far  as  possible,  combined 
strength  to  resist  the  rocks  with  lightness 
for  portages  and  protection  against  the 
over-wash  of  the  waves.  They  were  di- 
vided into  three  compartments,  oak  being 
the  material  used  in  three  and  pine  in 
the  fourth.  The  three  larger  ones  were 
each  twenty-one  feet  long :  the  other  was 
sixteen  feet  long,  and  was  constructed 
for  speed  in  rowing.  Sufficient  food  was 
taken  to  last  ten  months,  with  plenty  of 
ammunition  and  tools  for  building  cabins 
and  repairing  the  boats,  besides  various 
scientific  instruments. 

Thus  equipped  and  in  single  file,  the 
expedition  left  Green  River  City  behind 
and  pulled  into  the  shadows  of  the  phe- 
nomenal rocks  in  the  early  morning  of 
that  May  day  of  1869.  During  the  first 
few  days  they  had  no  serious  mishap : 
they  lost  an  oar,  broke  a  barometer-tube 
and  occasionally  struck  a  bar.  All  around 
them  abounded  examples  of  that  natural 
architecture  which  is  seen  from  the  pass- 
ing train  at  the  "City" — weird  statuary, 
caverns,  pinnacles  and  cliffs,  dyed  gray 
and  buff,  red  and  brown,  blue  and  black 
— all  drawn  in  horizontal  strata  like  the 
lines  of  a  painter's  brush.  Mooring  the 
boats  and  ascending  the  cliffs  after  mak- 
ing camp,  they  saw  the  sun  go  down  over 
a  vast  landscape  of  glittering  rock.  The 
shadows  fell  in  the  valleys  and  gulches, 
and  at  this  hour  the  lights  became  high- 
er and  the  depths  deeper.  The  Uintah 
Mountains  stretched  out  in  the  south, 
thrusting  their  peaks  into  the  sky  and 
shining  as  if  ensheathed  with  silver.  The 
distant  pine  forests  had  the  bluish  im- 
penetrability of  a  clear  night-sky,  and 
pink  clouds  floated  in  motionless  sus- 
pense until,  with  a  final  burst  of  splen- 
dor, the  light  expired. 

At  the  end  of  sixty -two  miles  they 
reached  the  mouth  of  Flaming  Gorge, 
near  which  some  hunters  and  Indians 
are  settled.  Flaming  Gorge  is  a  canon 
bounded  by  perpendicular  bluffs,  banded 


with  red  and  yellow  to  a  height  of  fif- 
teen hundred  feet,  and  the  water  flowing 
through  it  is  a  positive  malachite  in  color, 
crossed  and  edged  with  bars  of  glisten- 
ing white  sand.  It  leads  into  Red  Canon, 
and  in  1869  it  was  the  gateway  to  a  region 
which  was  almost  wholly  unknown.  An 
old  Indian  endeavored  to  deter  Major 
Powell  from  his  purpose.  He  held  his 
hands  above  his  head,  with  his  arms 
vertical,  and,  looking  between  them  to 
the  sky,  said,  "Rocks  h-e-a-p,  h-e-a-p 
high ;  the  water  go  h-oo-woogh ;  water- 
pony  (boat)  heap  buck.  Water  catch  'em, 
no  see  'em  squaw  any  more,  no  see  'em 
Injin  anymore,  no  see  'em  pappoose  any 
more."  The  prophecy  was  not  encour- 
aging, and  with  some  anxiety  the  ex- 
plorers left  the  last  vestige  of  civilization 
behind  them.  Below  the  gorge  they  ran 
through  Horseshoe  Canon,  which  de- 
scribes an  elongated  letter  U  in  the 
mountains,  and  several  portages  became 
necessary.  The  cliffs  increased  a  thou- 
sand feet  in  height,  and  in  many  places 
the  water  completely  filled  the  channel 
between  them ;  but  occasionally  the  canon 
opened  into  a  little  park,  from  the  grassy 
carpet  of  which  sprang  crimson  flowers 
on  the  stems  of  pear-shaped  cactus-plants, 
patches  of  blue  and  yellow  blossoms,  and 
a  fragrant  Spircea. 

As  often  as  a  rapid  was  approached 
Major  Powell  stood  on  the  deck  of  the 
leading  boat  to  examine  it,  and  if  he 
could  see  a  clear  passage  between  the 
rocks  he  gave  orders  to  go  ahead,  but  if 
the  channel  was  barricaded  he  signalled 
the  other  boats  to  pull  ashore,  and  land- 
ing himself  he  walked  along  the  edge  of 
the  canon  for  further  examination.  If 
still  no  channel  could  be  found,  the  boats 
were  lowered  to  the  head  of  the  falls  and 
let  down  by  ropes  secured  to  the  stem 
and  stern,  or  when  this  was  impracticable 
both  the  cargoes  and  the  boats  were  car- 
ried by  the  men  beyond  the  point  of  dif- 
ficulty. When  it  was  decided  to  run  the 
rapids  the  greatest  danger  was  encoun- 
tered in  the  first  wave  at  the  foot  of  the 
falls,  which  gathered  higher  and  higher 
until  it  broke.  If  the  boat  struck  it  the 
instant  after  it  broke  she  cut  through  it, 
and  the  men  had  all  they  could  do  to 


122 


A    CHAPTER    OF  AMERICAN  EXPLORATION. 


keep  themselves  from  being  washed  over- 
board. If  in  going  over  the  falls  she  was 
caught  by  some  side-current  and  borne 
against  the  wave  "  broadside  on,"  she  was 


capsized  —  an  accident  that  happened 
more  than  once,  without  fatal  results, 
however,  as  the  compartments  served  as 
buoys  and  the  men  clung  to  her  and  were 


INDIANS    GAMBLING. 


dragged  through  the  waves  until  quieter 
water  was  reached.  Where  these  rapids 
occur  the  channel  is  usually  narrowed  by 
rocks  which  have  tumbled  from  the  cliffs 
or  have  been  washed  in  by  lateral  streams ; 
but  immediately  above  them  a  bay  of 
smooth  water  may  usually  be  discovered 
where  a  landing  can  be  made  with  ease. 
In  such  a  bay  Major  Powell  landed  one 
day,  and,  seeing  one  of  the  rear  boats 
making  for  the  shore  after  he  had  given 
his  signal,  he  supposed  the  others  would 
follow  her  example,  and  walked  along  the 


side  of  the  canon-wall  to  look  for  the  fall  of 
which  a  loud  roar  gave  some  premonition. 
But  a  treacherous  eddy  carried  the  boat 
manned  by  the  two  Rowlands  and  Good- 
man into  the  current,  and  a  moment  later 
she  disappeared  over  the  unseen  falls. 
The  first  fall  was  not  great — not  more 
than  ten  or  twelve  feet — but  below  the 
river  sweeps  down  forty  or  fifty  feet 
through  a  channel  filled  with  spiked  rocks 
which  break  it  into  whirlpools  and  frothy 
crests.  Major  Powell  scrambled  around 
I  a  crag  just  in  time  to  see  the  boat  strike 


A    CHAPTER    OF  AMERICAN  EXPLORATION. 


123 


one  of  these  rocks,  and,  rebounding  from 
the  shock,  careen  and  fill  the  open  com- 
partment with  water.  The  oars  were 
dashed  out  of  the  hands  of  two  of  the 
crew  as  she  swung  around  and  was  car- 
ried down  the  stream  with  great  velocity, 
and  immediately  after  she  struck  another 
rock  amidships,  which  broke  her  in  two 
and  threw  the  men  into  the  water.  The 
larger  part  of  the  wreck  floated  buoyant- 
ly, and  seizing  it  the  men  supported  them- 
selves by  it  until  a  few  hundred  feet  far- 
ther down  they  came  to  a  second  fall, 
filled  with  huge  boulders,  upon  which  the 
wreck  was  dashed  to  pieces,  and  the  men 
and  the  fragments  were  again  carried  out 
of  Major  Powell's  sight.  He  struggled 
along  the  scant  foothold  afforded  by  the 
canon -wall,  and  coming  suddenly  to  a 
bend  saw  one  of  the  men  in  a  whirlpool 
below  a  large  rock,  to  which  he  was  cling- 
ing with  all  possible  tenacity.  It  was 
Goodman,  and  a  little  farther  on  was 
Rowland  tossed  upon  a  small  island, 
with  his  brother  stranded  upon  a  rock 
some  distance  below.  Rowland  struck 
out  for  Goodman  with  a  pole,  by  means 
of  which  he  relieved  him  from  his  preca- 
rious position,  and  very  soon  the  wreck- 
ed crew  stood  together,  bruised,  shaken 
and  scared,  but  not  disabled.  A  swift, 
dangerous  river  was  on  each  side  of  them 
and  a  fall  below  them.  It  was  now  a 
problem  how  to  release  them  from  this 
imprisonment.  Sumner  volunteered,  and 
in  one  of  the  other  boats  started  out  from 
above  the  island,  and  with  skilful  pad- 
dling landed  upon  it.  Together  with  the 
three  shipwrecked  men  he  then  pushed 
up  stream  until  all  stood  up  to  their  necks 
in  water,  when  one  of  them  braced  him- 
self against  a  rock  and  held  the  boat 
while  the  three  others  jumped  into  her  : 
the  man  on  the  rock  followed,  and  all  four 
then  pulled  vigorously  for  the  shore,  which 
they  reached  in  safety.  Many  years  be- 
fore an  adventurous  trapper  and  his  party 
had  been  wrecked  here  and  several  lives 
had  been  lost.  Major  Powell  named  the 
spot  Disaster  Falls. 

The  cliffs  are  so  high  that  the  twilight 
is  perpetual,  and  the  sky  seems  like  a  flat 
roof  pressed  across  them.  As  the  worn  men 
stretched  themselves  out  in  their  blankets 


they  saw  a  bright  star  that  appeared  to 
rest  on  the  very  verge  of  the  eastern  cliff, 
and  then  to  float  from  its  resting-place  on 
the  rock  over  the  canon.  At  first  it  was 
like  a  jewel  set  on  the  brink  of  the  cliff, 
and  as  it  moved  out  from  the  rock  they 
wondered  that  it  did  not  fall.  It  did  seem 
to  descend  in  a  gentle  curve,  and  the  oth- 
er stars  were  apparently  in  the  canon,  as 
if  the  sky  was  spread  over  the  gulf,  rest- 
ing on  either  wall  and  swayed  down  by 
its  own  weight. 

Sixteen  days  after  leaving  Green  River 
City  the  explorers  reached  the  end  of  the 
Canon  of  Lodore,  which  is  nearly  twenty- 
four  miles  long.  The  walls  were  never 
less  than  two  thousand  feet  high  except 
near  the  foot.  They  are  very  irregular, 
standing  in  perpendicular  or  overhang- 
ing cliffs  here,  terraced  there,  or  receding 
in  steep  slopes  broken  by  many  side- 
gulches.  The  highest  point  of  the  wall 
is  twenty -seven  hundred  feet,  but  the 
peaks  a  little  distance  off  are  a  thousand 
feet  higher.  Yellow  pines,  nut  pines,  firs 
and  cedars  stand  in  dense  forests  on  the 
Uintah  Mountains,  and  clinging  to  mov- 
ing rocks  they  have  come  down  the  walls 
to  the  water's  edge  between  Flaming 
Gorge  and  Echo  Park.  The  red  sand- 
stones are  lichened  over,  delicate  mosses 
grow  in  the  moist  places  and  ferns  festoon 
the  walls. 

A  few  days  later  they  were  upset  again, 
losing  oars,  guns  and  barometers,  and  on 
July  1 8th  they  had  only  enough  provisions 
left  for  two  months,  though  they  had  sup- 
plied themselves  with  quantities  which, 
barring  accidents,  should  have  lasted  ten 
months.  On  July  igth  the  Grand  Canon 
of  the  Colorado  became  visible,  and  from 
an  eminence  they  could  follow  its  course 
for  miles  and  catch  glimpses  of  the  river. 
The  Green,  down  which  they  had  come  so 
far,  bears  in  from  the  north-west  through 
a  narrow,  winding  gorge.  The  Grand 
comes  in  from  the  north-east  through  a 
channel  which  from  the  explorer's  point 
of  view  seems  bottomless.  Away  to  the 
west  are  lines  of  cliffs  and  ledges  of  rock, 
with  grotesque  forms  intervening.  In  the 
east  a  chain  of  eruptive  mountains  is  vis- 
ible, the  slopes  covered  with  pines,  the 
summits  coated  with  snow  and  the  gulches 


124 


A    CHAPTER    OF  AMERICAN  EXPLORATION. 


HORSESHOE    CARON. 


A    CHAPTER    OF  AMERICAN  EXPLORATION. 


125 


flanked  by  great  crags.  Wherever  the  men 
looked  there  were  rocks,  deep  gorges  in 
which  the  rivers  were  lost  under  cliffs,  tow- 
ers and  pinnacles,  thousands  of  strange- 
ly-carved forms,  and  mountains  blending 
with  the  clouds.  They  passed  the  junc- 
tion of  the  Grand  and  Green,  and  on  July 
2  ist  they  were  on  the  Colorado  itself.  The 
walls  are  nearly  vertical,  and  the  river  is 
broad  and  swift,  but  free  from  rocks  and 
falls.  From  the  edge  of  the  water  to  the 
brink  of  the  cliffs  is  nearly  two  thousand 
feet,  and  the  cliffs  are  reflected  on  the 
quiet  surface  until  it  seems  to  the  travel- 
lers that  there  is  a  vast  abyss  below  them. 
But  the  tranquillity  is  not  lasting :  a  little 
way  below  this  space  of  majestic  calm  it 
was  necessary  to  make  three  portages  in 
succession,  the  distance  being  less  than 
three  -  quarters  of  a  mile,  with  a  fall  of 
seventy-five  feet.  In  the  evening  Major 
Powell  sat  upon  a  rock  by  the  edge  of 
the  river  to  look  at  the  water  and  listen 
to  its  roar.  Heavy  shadows  settled  in 
the  canon  as  the  sun  passed  behind  the 
cliffs,  and  no  glint  of  light  remained  on 
the  crags  above,  but  the  waves  were  crest- 
ed with  a  white  that  seemed  luminous.  A 
great  fall  broke  at  the  foot  of  a  block  of 
limestone  fifty  feet  high,  and  rolled  back 
in  immense  billows.  Over  the  sunken 
rocks  the  flood  was  heaped  up  into  mounds 
and  even  cones.  The  tumult  was  extra- 
ordinary. At  a  point  where  the  rocks 
were  very  near  the  surface  the  water  was 
thrown  up  ten  or  fifteen  feet,  and  fell  back 
in  gentle  curves  as  in  a  fountain. 

On  August  3d  the  party  traversed  a 
canon  of  diversified  features.  The  walls 
were  still  vertical  in  places,  especially 
near  the  bends,  and  the  river  sweeping 
round  the  capes  had  undermined  the 
cliffs.  Sometimes  the  rocks  overarched  : 
again  curious  narrow  glens  were  found. 
The  men  explored  the  glens,  in  one  of 
which  they  discovered  a  natural  stairway 
several  hundred  feet  high  leading  to  a 
spring  which  burst  out  from  an  overhang- 
ing cliff  among  aspens  and  willows,  while 
along  the  edges  of  the  brooklet  there 
were  oaks  and  other  rich  vegetation. 
There  were  also  many  side-canons  with 
walls  nearer  to  each  other  above  than  be- 
low, giving  them  the  character  of  grottoes ; 


and  there  were  carved  walls  arches,  al- 
coves and  monuments,  to  all  of  which 
the  collective  name  of  Glen  Canon  was 
given. 

One  morning  the  surveyors  came  to  a 
point  where  the  river  filled  the  entire 
channel  and  the  walls  were  sheer  to  the 
water's  edge.  They  saw  a  fall  below, 
and  in  order  to  inspect  it  they  pulled  up 
against  one  of  the  cliffs,  in  which  was  a 
little  shelf  or  crevice  a  few  feet  above 
their  heads.  One  man  stood  on  the  deck 
of  the  boat  while  another  climbed  over 
his  shoulders  into  this  insecure  foothold, 
along  which  they  passed  until  it  became 
a  shelf  which  was  broken  by  a  chasm 
some  yards  farther  on.  They  then  re- 
turned to  the  boat  and  pulled  across  the 
stream  for  some  logs  which  had  lodged 
on  the  opposite  shore,  and  with  which  it 
was  intended  to  bridge  the  gulf.  It  was 
no  easy  work  hauling  the  wood  along  the 
fissure,  but  with  care  and  patience  they 
accomplished  it,  and  reached  a  point  in 
the  cliffs  from  which  the  falls  could  be 
seen.  It  seemed  practicable  to  lower  the 
boats  over  the  stormy  waters  by  holding 
them  with  ropes  from  the  cliffs  ;  and  this 
was  done  successfully,  the  incident  illus- 
trating how  laborious  their  progress  some- 
times became. 

The  scenery  was  of  unending  interest. 
The  rocks  were  of  many  colors — white, 
gray,  pink  and  purple,  with  saffron  tints. 
At  an  elbow  of  the  river  the  water  has 
excavated  a  semicircular  chamber  which 
would  hold  fifty  thousand  people,  and 
farther  on  the  cliffs  are  of  softly -tinted 
marble  lustrously  polished  by  the  waves. 
At  one  place  Major  Powell  walked  for 
more  than  a  mile  on  a  marble  pavement 
fretted  with  strange  devices  and  emboss- 
ed with  a  thousand  different  patterns. 
Through  a  cleft  in  the  wall  the  sun  shone 
on  this  floor,  which  gleamed  with  irides- 
cent beauty.  Exploring  the  cleft,  Major 
Powell  found  a  succession  of  pools  one 
above  another,  and  each  cold  and  clear, 
though  the  water  of  the  river  was  a  dull 
red.  Then  a  bend  in  the  canon  disclosed 
a  massive  abutment  that  seemed  to  be 
set  with  a  million  brilliant  gems  as  they 
approached  it,  and  every  one  wondered. 
As  they  came  closer  to  it  they  saw  many 


126 


A    CHAPTER    OF  AMERICAN  EXPLORATION. 


springs  bursting  from  the  rock  high  over- 
head, and  the  spray  in  the  sunshine  forms 
the  gems  which  glitter  in  the  walls,  at 
the  base  of  which  is  a  profusion  of  mosses, 
ferns  and  flowers.  To  the  place  above 
where  the  three  portages  were  necessary 


the  name  of  Cataract  Canon  was  given ; 
and  they  were  now  well  into  the  Grand 
Canon  itself.  The  walls  were  more  than 
a  mile  in  height,  and,  as  Major  Powell 
says,  a  vertical  altitude  like  this  is  not 
easily  pictured.  "  Stand  on  the  south 


THE  HEART  OF  CATARACT  CASON. 


steps  of  the  Treasury  Building  in  Wash- 
ington and  look  down  Pennsylvania  Ave- 
nue to  the  Capitol  Park,  and  measure  this 
distance  overhead,  and  imagine  cliffs  to 
extend  to  that  altitude,  and  you  will  un- 
derstand what  I  mean,"  the  explorer  has 
written  ;  "  or  stand  at  Canal  street  in  New 
York  and  look  up  Broadway  to  Grace 
Church,  and  you  have  about  the  dis- 
tance ;  or  stand  at  the  Lake  street  bridge 
in  Chicago  and  look  down  to  the  Central 


Depot,  and  you  have  it  again."  A  thou- 
sand feet  of  the  distance  is  through  gran- 
ite crags,  above  which  are  slopes  and  per- 
pendicular cliffs  to  the  summit.  The  gorge 
is  black  and  narrow  below,  red  and  gray 
and  flaring  above. 

Down  these  gloomy  depths  the  expedi- 
tion constantly  glided,  ever  listening  and 
ever  peering  ahead,  for  the  cafion  is  wind- 
ing and  they  could  not  see  more  than  a 
few  hundred  yards  in  advance.  The  view 


A    CHAPTER    OF  AMERICAN  EXPLORATION. 


127 


changed  every  minute  as  some  new  crag 
or  pinnacle  or  glen  or  peak  became  vis- 
ible; but  the  men  were  fully  engaged 
listening  for  rapids  and  looking  for  rocks. 
Navigation  was  exceedingly  difficult,  and 
it  was  often  necessary  to  hold  the  boats 


MARY'S  VEIL,  A  SIDE  CANON. 

from  ledges  in  the  cliffs  as  the  falls  were 
passed.  The  river  was  very  deep  and 
the  canon  very  narrow.  The  waters 
boiled  and  rushed  in  treacherous  cur- 
rents, which  sometimes  whirled  the  boats 
into  the  stream  or  hurried  them  against 


the  walls.  The  oars  were  useless,  and 
each  crew  labored  for  its  own  preserva- 
tion as  its  frail  vessel  was  spun  round  like 
a  top  or  borne  with  the  speed  of  a  loco- 
motive this  way  and  that. 

While  they  were  thus  uncontrollable 
the  boats  entered  a  rapid,  and 
one  of  them  was  driven  in  shore, 
but  as  there  was  no  foothold  for 
a  portage  the  men  pushed  into 
the  stream  again.  The  next 
minute  a  reflex  wave  filled  the 
open  compartment  and  water- 
logged her :  breaker  after  break- 
er rolled  over  her,  and  one  cap- 
sized her.  The  men  were  thrown 
out,  but  they  managed  to  cling 
to  her,  and  as  they  were  swept 
down  the  other  boats  rescued 
them. 

Heavy  clouds  lolled  in  the 
canon,  filling  it  with  gloom. 
Sometimes  they  hung  above 
from  wall  to  wall  and  formed  a 
roof :  then  a  gust  of  wind  from 
a  side -canon  made  a  rift  in 
them  and  the  blue  heavens  were 
revealed,  or  they  dispersed  in 
patches  which  settled  on  the 
crags,  while  puffs  of  vapor  is- 
sued out  of  the  smaller  gulches, 
and  occasionally  formed  bars 
across  the  canon,  one  above  an- 
other, each  opening  a  different 
vista.  When  they  discharged 
their  rains  little  rills  first  trickled 
down  the  cliff,  and  these  soon 
became  brooks :  the  brooks 
grew  into  creeks  and  tumbled 
down  through  innumerable  cas- 
cades, which  added  their  music 
to  the  roar  of  the  river.  As  soon 
as  the  rain  ceased  rills,  brooks, 
creeks  and  cascades  disappear- 
ed, their  birth  and  death  being 
equally  sudden. 

Desolate  and  inaccessible  as 
the  canon  is,  many  ruins  of 
buildings  are  found  perched  upon  ledges 
in  the  stupendous  cliffs.  In  some  in- 
stances the  mouths  of  caves  have  been 
walled  in,  and  the  evidences  all  point 
to  a  race  for  ever  dreading  and  fortify- 
ing itself  against  an  invader.  Why  did 


128 


A    CHAPTER    OF  AMERICAN  EXPLORATION. 


these  people  chose  their  embattlements 
so  far  away  from  all  tillable  land  and 
sources  of  subsistence  ?  Major  Powell 
suggests  this  solution  of  the  problem : 
For  a  century  or  two  after  the  settle- 


ment of  Mexico  many  expeditions  were 
sent  into  the  country  now  comprised  in 
Arizona  and  New  Mexico  for  the  pur- 
pose of  bringing  the  town-building  peo- 
ple under  the  dominion  of  the  Spanish 


LIGHTHOUSE   ROCK   IN   THE  CAflON   OK   DESOLATION. 


government.  Many  of  their  villages  were 
destroyed,  and  the  inhabitants  fled  to 
regions  at  that  time  unexplored ;  and 
there  are  traditions  among  the  existing 
Pueblos  that  the  canons  were  these  lands. 
The  Spanish  conquerors  had  a  monstrous 
greed  for  gold  and  a  lust  for  saving  souls. 
"Treasure  they  must  have — if  not  on 
earth  why,  then,  in  heaven — and  when 
they  failed  to  find  heathen  temples  be- 
decked with  silver  they  propitiated  Heav- 
en by  seizing  the  heathen  themselves. 


There  is  yet  extant  a  cdpy  of  a  record 
made  by  a  heathen  artist  to  express  his 
conception  of  the  demands  of  the  con- 
querors. In  one  part  of  the  picture  we 
have  a  lake,  and  near  by  stands  a  priest 
pouring  water  on  the  head  of  a  native. 
On  the  other  side  a  poor  Indian  has  a 
cord  around  his  throat.  Lines  run  from 
these  two  groups  to  a  central  figure,  a 
man  with  a  beard  and  full  Spanish  pan- 
oply. The  interpretation  of  the  picture- 
writing  is  this : '  Be  baptized  ar.  this  saved 


A    CHAPTER    OF  AMERICAN  EXPLORATION. 


129 


heathen,  or  be  hanged  as  this  damned 
heathen.'  Doubtless  some  of  the  peo- 
ple preferred  a  third  alternative,  and 
rather  than  be  baptized  or  hanged  they 
chose  to  be  imprisoned  within  these 
canon-walls." 

The  rains  and  the  accidents  in  the  rap- 
ids had  seriously  reduced  the  commissary 
by  this  time,  and  the  provisions  left  were 
more  or  less  injured.  The  bacon  was 
uneatable,  and  had  to  be  thrown  away : 
the  flour  was  musty,  and  the  saleratus 
was  lost  overboard.  On  August  lyth  the 
party  had  only  enough  food  remaining 
for  ten  days'  use,  and  though  they  hoped 
that  the  worst  places  had  been  passed, 
the  barometers  were  broken,  and  they 
did  not  know  what  descent  they  had  yet 
to  make.  The  canvas  which  they  had 
brought  with  them  for  covering  from' 
Green  River  City  was  rotten,  there  was 
not  one  blanket  apiece  for  the  men,  and 
more  than  half  the  party  were  hatless. 
Despite  their  hopes  that  the  greatest  ob- 
stacles had  been  overcome,  however,  on 
the  morning  of  August  27th  they  reach- 
ed a  place  which  appeared  more  perilous 
than  any  they  had  so  far  passed.  They 
landed  on  one  side  of  the  river,  and 
clambered  over  the  granite  pinnacles  for 
a  mile  or  two  without  seeing  any  way  by 
which  they  could  lower  the  boats.  Then 
they  crossed  to  the  other  side  and  walk- 
ed along  the  top  of  a  crag.  In  his  eager- 
ness to  reach  a  point  where  he  could  see 
the  roaring  fall  below,  Major  Powell  went 
too  far,  and  was  caught  at  a  point  where 
he  could  neither  advance  nor  retreat: 
the  river  was  four  hundred  feet  below, 
and  he  was  suspended  in  front  of  the 
cliff  with  one  foot  on  a  small  projecting 
rock  and  one  hand  fixed  in  a  little  crev- 
ice. He  called  for  help,  and  the  men 
passed  him  a  line,  but  he  could  not  let 
go  of  the  rock  long  enough  to  seize  it. 
While  he  felt  his  hold  becoming  weaker 
and  expected  momentarily  to  drop  into 
the  canon,  the  men  went  to  the  boats  and 
obtained  three  of  the  largest  oars.  The 
blade  of  one  of  them  was  pushed  into 
the  crevice  of  a  rock  beyond  him  in  such 
a  manner  that  it  bound  him  across  the 
body  to  the  wall,  and  another  oar  was 
fixed  so  that  he  could  stand  upon  it  and 
9 


walk  out  of  the  difficulty.  He  breathed 
again,  but  had  felt  that  cold  air  which 
seems  to  fan  one  when  death  is  near. 

Another  hour  was  spent  in  examining 
the  river,  but  a  good  view  of  it  could  not 
be  obtained,  and  they  once  more  went  to 
the  opposite  side.  After  some  hard  work 
among  the  cliffs  they  discovered  that  the 
lateral  streams  had  washed  a  large  num- 
ber of  boulders  into  the  river,  forming  a 
dam  over  which  the  water  made  a  broken 
fall  of  about  twenty  feet,  below  which  was 
a  rapid  beset  by  huge  rocks  for  two  or 
three  hundred  yards.  This  was  border- 
ed on  one  side  by  a  series  of  sharp  pro- 
jections of  the  canon-walls,  and  beyond 
it  was  a  second  fall,-  ending  in  another 
and  no  less  threatening  rapid.  At  the 
bottom  of  the  latter  an  immense  slab  of 
granite  projected  fully  halfway  across  the 
river,  and  upon  the  inclined  plane  which 
it  formed  the  water  rolled  with  all  the 
momentum  gained  in  the  falls  and  rap- 
ids above,  and  then  swept  over  to  the 
left.  The  men  viewed  the  prospect  with 
dismay,  but  Major  Powell  had  an  insa- 
tiable desire  to  complete  the  exploration. 
He  decided  that  it  was  possible  to  let  the 
boats  down  over  the  first  fall,  then  to  run 
near  the  right  cliff  to  a  point  just  above 
the  second  fall,  where  they  could  pull 
into  a  little  chute,  and  from  the  foot  of 
that  across  the  stream  to  avoid  the  great 
rock  below.  The  men  shook  their  heads, 
and  after  supper — a  sorry  supper  of  un- 
leavened flour  and  water,  coffee  and  ran- 
cid bacon,  eaten  on  the  rocks — the  elder 
Howland  endeavored  to  dissuade  the 
leader  from  his  purpose,  and,  failing  to 
do  so,  told  him  that  he  with  his  brother 
and  Dunn  would  go  no  farther.  That 
night  Major  Powell  did  not  sleep  at  all, 
but  paced  to  and  fro,  now  measuring  the 
remaining  provisions,  then  contemplating 
the  rushing  falls  and  rapids.  Might  not 
Howland  be  right  ?  Would  it  be  wise  to 
venture  into  that  maelstrom  which  was 
white  during  the  darkest  hours  of  the 
night  ?  At  one  time  he  almost  concluded 
to  leave  the  river  and  to  strike  out  across 
the  table-lands  for  the  Mormon  settle- 
ments. But  this  trip  had  been  the  ob- 
ject of  his  life  for  many  years,  looked 
forward  to  and  dreamed  of,  and  to  leave 


130 


A    CHAPTER    OF  AMERICAN  EXPLORATION. 


the  exploration  unfinished  when  he  was 
so  near  the  end,  to  acknowledge  defeat, 
was  more  than  he  could  reconcile  him- 
self to. 

In  the  morning  his  brother,  Captain 
Powell,  Sumner,  Bradley,  Hall  and 
Hawkins  promised  to  remain  with  him, 
but  the  Howlands  and  Dunn  were  fixed 


in  their  determination  to  go  no  farther. 
The  provisions  were  divided,  and  one  of 
the  boats  was  left  with  the  deserters,  who 
were  also  provided  with  three  guns  :  How- 
land  was  also  entrusted  with  duplicate 
copies  of  the  rerords  and  with  some  me- 
mentos the  voyagers  desired  to  have  sent 
to  friends  and  relatives  should  they  not 


GRANITE  WALLS. 


be  heard  of  again.  It  was  a  solemn  part- 
ing. The  Howlands  and  Dunn  entreated 
the  others  not  to  go  on,  telling  them  that 
it  was  obvious  madness  ;  but  the  decision 
had  been  made,  and  the  two  boats  push- 
ed out  into  the  stream. 

They  glided  rapidly  along  the  foot  of 
the  wall,  grazing  one  large  rock,  and  then 
they  pulled  into  the  falls  and  plunged 


over  them.  The  open  compartment  of 
the  major's  boat  was  filled  when  she 
struck  the  first  wave  below,  but  she  cut 
through  the  upheaval,  and  by  vigoious 
strokes  was  drawn  away  from  the  dan- 
gerous rock  farther  down.  They  were 
scarcely  a  minute  in  running  through  the 
rapids,  and  found  that  what  had  seemed 
almost  hopeless  from  above  was  really 


A    CHAPTER    OF  AMERICAN  EXPLORATION. 


13' 


less  difficult  than  many  other  points  on 
the  river.  The  Rowlands  and  their  com- 
panion were  now  out  of  sight,  and  guns 
were  fired  to  indicate  to  them  that  the 
passage  had  been  safely  made  and  to  in- 
duce them  to  follow ;  but  no  answer  came, 


CANON    IN    ESCALANTE   11AS1N. 

and  after  waiting  two  hours  the  descent 
of  the  river  was  resumed. 

A  succession  of  falls  and  rapids  still 
had  to  be  overcome,  and  in  the  afternoon 
the  explorers  were  opce  more  threatened 
with  defeat.  A  little  stream  entered  the 


canon  from  the  left,  and  immediately  be- 
low the  river  broke  over  two  falls,  beyond 
which  it  rose  in  high  waves  and  subsided 
in  whirlpools.  The  boats  hugged  the  left 
wall  for  some  distance,  but  when  the  men 
saw  that  they  could  not  descend  on  this 
side  they  pulled  up 
stream  several  hun 
dred  yards  and 
crossed  to  the  oth- 
er. Here  there 
was  a  bed  of  basalt 
about  one  hundred 
feet  high,  which, 
disembarking,  they 
followed,  pulling 
the  boats  after  them 
by  ropes.  The  ma- 
jor, as  usual,  went 
ahead,  and  discov- 
ered that  it  would 
be  impossible  to 
lower  the  boats 
from  the  cliff;  but 
the  men  had  al- 
ready brought  one 
of  them  to  the  brink 
of  the  falls  and  had 
secured  her  by  a 
bight  around  a 
crag.  The  other 
boat,  in  which 
Bradley  had  re- 
mained, was  shoot- 
ing in  and  out  from 
the  cliffs  with  great 
violence,  now 
straining  the  line 
by  which  she  was 
held,  and  now 
whirling  against 
the  rock  as  if  she 
would  dash  herself 
to  pieces.  An  ef- 
fort was  made  to 
pass  another  rope 
to  Bradley,  but  he 
was  so  preoccupied 

that  he  did  not  notice  it,  and  the  others 
saw  him  take  a  knife  out  of  its  sheath 
and  step  forward  to  cut  the  line.  He 
had  decided  that  it  was  better  to  go 
over  the  falls  with  her  than  to  wait  for 
her  to  be  completely  wrecked  against 


132 


A    CHAPTER    OF  AMERICAN  EXPLORATION, 


the  rocks.  He  did 
not  show  the  least 
alarm,  and  as  he 
leaned  over  to  cut 
the  rope  the  boat 
sheered  into  the 
stream,  the  stern- 
post  broke  and  he 
was  adrift.  With 
perfect  composure 
he  seized  the  large 
scull-oar,  placed  it 
in  the  stern  row- 
lock and  pulled 
with  all  his  strength, 
which  was  consid- 
erable, to  turn  the 
bow  down  stream. 
After  the  third 
stroke  she  passed 
over  the  falls  and 
was  invisible  for 
several  seconds, 
when  she  reappear- 
ed upon  a  great 
wave,  dancing  high 
over  its  crest,  then 
sinking  between 
two  vast  walls  of 
water.  The  men 
on  the  cliff  held 
their  breath  as  they 
watched.  Again 
she  disappeared, 
and  this  time  was 
out  of  sight  so  long 
that  poor  Bradley's 
fate  seemed  settled ; 
but  in  a  moment 
more  something 
was  noticed  emer- 
ging from  the  water 
farther  down  the 
stream :  it  was  the 
boat,  with  Bradley 
standing  on  deck 
and  twirling  his  hat 
to  show  that  he  was 
safe.  He  was  spin- 
ning round  in  a 
whirlpool,  however, 
and  S  u  m  n  e  r  and 
Powell  were  sent 
along  the  cliff  to 

VOL.  XXVI.— 26 


PA-RU-NU-WEAP  CARON. 


A    CHAPTER    OF  AMERICAN  EXPLORATION. 


133 


see  if  they  could  help  him,  while  the 
major  and  the  others  embarked  in  the 
remaining  boat  and  passed  over  the  fall. 
After  reaching  the  brink  they  do  not  re- 
member what  happened  to  them,  except 
that  their  boat  was  upset  and  that  Brad- 
ley pulled  them  out  of  the  water.  Pow- 
ell and  Sumner  joined  them  by  climbing 
along  the  cliff,  and,  having  put  the  boats 
in  order,  they  once  more  started  down  the 
stream. 

On  the  next  day,  August  29th,  three 
months  and  five  days  after  leaving  Green 
River  City,  they  reached  the  foot  of  the 
Grand  Canon  of  the  Colorado,  the  pas- 
sage of  which  had  been  of  continuous 
peril  and  toil,  and  on  the  3Oth  they  end- 
ed their  exploration  at  a  ranch,  from 
which  the  way  was  easy  to  Salt  Lake 
City.  "Now  the  danger  is  over,"  writes 
Major  Powell  in  his  diary ;  "  now  the  toil 
has  ceased;  now  the  gloom  has  disap- 
peared ;  now  the  firmament  is  bounded 
only  by  the  horizon ;  and  what  a  vast  ex- 
panse of  constellations  can  be  seen  !  The 
river  rolls  by  us  in  silent  majesty ;  the 
quiet  of  the  camp  is  sweet ;  our  joy  is 
almost  ecstasy.  We  sit  till  long  after 
midnight  talking  of  the  Grand  Canon, 
talking  of  home,  but  chiefly  talking  of 
the  three  men  who  left  us.  Are  they 
wandering  in  those  depths,  unable  to 
find  a  way  out  ?  are  they  searching  over 
the  desert-lands  above  for  water  ?  or  are 
they  nearing  the  settlements?" 

It  was  about  a  year  afterward  that  their 
fate  became  known.  Major  Powell  was 
continuing  his  explorations,  and  having 
passed  through  Pa-ru-nu-weap  (or  Roar- 
ing Water)  Canon,  he  spent  some  time 
among  the  Indians  in  the  region  beyond, 


from  whom  he  learned  that  three  white 
men  had  been  killed  the  year  before. 
They  had  come  upon  the  Indian  village 
starving  and  exhausted  with  fatigue,  say- 
ing that  they  had  descended  the  Grand 
Canon.  They  were  fed  and  started  on 
the  way  to  the  settlements,  but  they 
had  not  gone  far  when  an  Indian  ar- 
rived from  the  east  side  of  the  Colo- 
rado and  told  of  some  miners  who  had 
killed  a  squaw  in  a  drunken  brawl. 
He  incited  the  tribe  to  follow  and  at- 
tack the  three  whites,  who  no  doubt 
were  the  murderers.  Their  story  of 
coming  down  the  Grand  Canon  was  im- 
possible— no  men  had  ever  done  that — 
and  it  was  a  falsehood  designed  to  cov- 
er their  guilt.  Excited  by  a  desire  for 
revenge,  a  party  stole  after  them,  sur- 
rounded them  in  ambush  and  filled  them 
with  arrows.  This  was  the  .tragic  end  of 
Dunn  and  the  Rowland  brothers. 

Little  need  be  added.  The  unflinch- 
ing courage,  the  quiet  persistence  and  the 
inexhaustible  zeal  of  Major  Powell  en- 
abled him  to  achieve  a  geographical  ex- 
ploit which  had  been  deemed  wholly  im- 
practicable, and  which  in  adventurous- 
ness  puts  most  of  the  feats  of  the  Alpine 
Club  in  the  shade.  But  the  narrative  may 
derive  a  further  interest  from  one  other 
fact  concerning  this  intrepid  explorer, 
whom  we  have  seen  standing  at  the  bow 
of  his  boats  and  guiding  them  over  tem- 
pestuous falls,  rapids  and  whirlpools,  soar- 
ing among  the  crags  of  almost  perpen- 
dicular canon -walls  and  suspended  by 
his  fingers  from  the  rocks  four  hundred 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  river:  Major 
Powell  is  a  one-armed  man ! 


THE  RUINS  OF  THE  COLORADO  VALLEY. 


HOUSE  OF  A  MOQUI  CHIEF. 


IT  was  about  seventy  years  before  our 
English  race  gained  a  foothold  on  the 
eastern  coast  of  America  that,  far  away 
in  the  West,  the  seeds  of  another  form 
of  Eastern  civilization  began  to  fall  upon 
ground  which  now  belongs  to  our  nation- 
al territory.     In  the  wilderness  near  the 
western  border  of    New   Mexico    there 
134 


stands  a  great  crag,  torn  into  curious 
shapes  by  the  wear  of  ages,  bearing  on 
its  summit  a  ruined  fortress  of  a  forgot- 
ten people  and  on  its  side  hieroglyphic 
writing  which  no  one  can  decipher.  The 
same  smooth  sandstone  surface  which 
invited  the  picture-writing  of  the  ancients 
has  also  tempted  later  passers-by  to  per- 


THE   RUINS   OF   THE    COLORADO    VALLEY. 


135 


petuate  their  names.  A  long  series  of 
inscriptions  in  Spanish,  begun  before  the 
first  English  had  landed  at  Jamestown, 
tells  how  explorers,  conquerors,  govern- 
ment emissaries  and  missionaries  of  the 
Cross,  passing  that  way,  paused  to  leave 
their  names  on  the  enduring  rock.  That 
imperishable  monument  bears  record  to 
all  time  that  this  remotest  region  of  our 
country,  the  last  which  the  new  life  of 
the  nineteenth  century  penetrates,  was 
the  first  point  to  be  touched  by  Euro- 
pean civilization,  if  we  except  one  old 
Florida  fort.  It  is  three  hundred  and 
forty  years  since  the  Spaniards  entered 
New  Mexico.  There,  almost  at  the  cen- 
tre of  the  continent,  in  the  valleys  of  the 
Rio  Grande  and  Colorado,  the  old  Span- 
ish life  has  remained,  as  unprogressive 
as  a  Chinese  province,  continuing  to  the 
middle  of  this  century  a  kind  of  modified 
feudal  system.  But  this  old  declining 
civilization  of  the  South-west  is  new  in 
comparison  with  that  which  the  Spanish 
conquerors  found  existing  in  the  country 
when  they  entered  it.  A  remnant  of  that 
old  half-civilized  life  lingers  still,  almost 
unchanged  by  contact  with  white  men,  in 
the  seven  citadels  of  the  Moquis  perched 
on  the  high  mesas  of  Arizona,  while  in 
the  Pueblo  villages  of  New  Mexico  we 
find  it  more  affected  by  the  Spanish  in- 
fluence. 

The  attraction  which  drew  the  conque- 
rors of  Mexico  forty-five  days'  journey 
away  into  the  North  was  the  fame  which 
had  reached  them  of  the  Seven  Cities  of 
Cibola  (the  buffalo),  great  in  wealth  and 
population,  lying  in  the  valley  of  the  Rio 
de  Zuni.  To  the  grief  of  the  invaders, 
they  found  not  cities,  but  rather  villages 
of  peaceful  agricultural  people  dwelling 
in  great  pueblos  three  and  four  stories 
high,  and  they  searched  in  vain  for  the 
rumored  stores  of  gold.  At  that  time  the 
pueblos  held  a  large  population  skilled 
in  many  arts  of  civilization.  They  culti- 
vated large  tracts  of  ground,  wove  fabrics 
of  cotton  and  produced  ornate  pottery. 
Their  stone-masonry  was  admirable.  But 
even  three  hundred  years  ago  it  seems 
that  the  people  were  but  a  remnant  of 
what  they  had  once  been.  Even  then 
the  conquerors  wondered  at  the  many 


ruins  which  indicated  a  decline  from  for- 
mer greatness.  The  people  have  not  now 
the  same  degree  of  skill  m  their  native 
arts  which  the  race  once  had,  and  it  is 
probable  that  when  the  Spaniards  came 
and  found  them  declining  in  numbers 
the  old  handicrafts  were  already  on  the 
wane. 

In  a  remote  age  the  ancestors  of  these 
Pueblo  tribes,  or  a  race  of  kindred  habits, 
filled  most  of  that  vast  region  which  is 
drained  by  the  Colorado  River  and  its 
affluents,  and  spread  beyond  into  the  val- 
ley of  the  Rio  Grande.  The  explorers  of 
a  great  extent  of  country  in  Utah,  Arizona, 
New  Mexico  and  Colorado  have  found  ev- 
erywhere evidences  of  the  wide  distribu- 
tion and  wonderful  industry  of  that  an- 
cient people.  On  the  low  land  which  they 
used  to  till  lie  the  remains  of  their  vil- 
lages— rectangular  buildings  of  enormous 
dimensions  and  large  circular  estufas,  or 
halls  for  council  and  worship.  On  the 
sides  of  the  savage  cliffs  that  wall  in  or 
overarch  the  canons  are  scattered  in  ev- 
ery crevice  and  wrinkle  those  strange  and 
picturesque  ruins  which  give  us  the  name 
"Cliff-dwellers"  to  distinguish  this  long- 
forgotten  people.  And  on  commanding 
points,  seen  far  away  down  the  canons  or 
across  the  mesas,  stand  the  solitary  watch- 
towers  where  sentinels  might  signal  to 
the  villagers  below  on  the  approach  of 
Northern  barbarians. 

It  is  only  a  few  years  since  Mr.  John  Rus- 
kin  rejected  a  suggestion  that  he  should 
visit  the  United  States,  urging  among  oth- 
er reasons  that  it  would  be  impossible  for 
him  to  exist  even  for  a  short  time  in  a 
country  where  there  are  no  old  castles. 
We  Americans  were  disposed  to  resent 
this  slap  at  our  country,  and  not  a  few 
newspaper  editors  relieved  their  minds 
by  intimating  that  we  could  get  along 
quite  comfortably  without  old  castles  and 
without  Mr.  Ruskin.  But,  after  all,  it  is 
a  consolation  for  our  national  pride  to 
know  that  the  fault  is  not  in  our  country, 
but  in  Mr.  Ruskin's  ignorance  of  Amer- 
ican archaeology.  We  have  old  castles 
without  number  in  the  Western  Territo- 
ries— ruined  fortifications  and  dwellings 
of  an  unknown  antiquity,  perhaps  as  old 
as  Warwick  or  Bangor,  as  impregnable  as 


1 36 


THE   RUINS   OF   THE   COLORADO    VALLEY. 


the  highest  cliff-built  castle  of  the  Rhine, 
as  grand  in  situation  as  the  Drachenfels 
or  Dover  Casfle. 

Only  the  more  eastern  part  of  the  great 
domain  held  by  that  ancient  people  has 
yet  been  examined  thoroughly  with  ref- 
erence to  its  antiquities.  Within  the  last 
decade  Mr.  W.  H.  Jackson  of  the  United 
States  Geological  Survey  has  brought  to 
notice,  by  his  admirable  photographs  and 
descriptions,  the  remains  in  the  cliffs  and 


canons  of  South-western  Colorado  and 
the  adjacent  region.  Thirty  years  ago 
Lieutenant  Simpson  described  the  ruined 
pueblos  of  New  Mexico.  But  in  regard 
to  the  ruins  farther  west,  seen  by  Major 
Powell  in  his  headlong  course  down  the 
Colorado  River,  and  the  innumerable 
remains  of  cities,  fortresses  and  canals 
mentioned  by  visitors  to  Arizona,  but  lit- 
tle careful  investigation  has  been  made. 
I  believe  that  few  richer  fields  for  an  an- 


tiquary can  be  found  in  tne  world  than 
this  south  -  western  region  of  our  own 
country.  I  cannot  doubt  that  a  thorough 
comparative  examination  of  these  remains 
would  throw  a  new  light  upon  the  rela- 
tionship between  the  ancient  and  modern 
civilized  tribes,  and  upon  their  connection 
with  their  far  more  civilized  Aztec  neigh- 
bors of  the  South.  As  yet,  hardly  an  at- 
tempt at  excavation  has  been  made  in 
the  Colorado  Valley. 

There  is  no  other  district  which  em- 
braces in  so  small  a  compass  so  great  a 
number  and  variety  of  the  Cliff-dwellers' 


ruined  works  as  the  canon  of  the  Little 
Rio  Mancos*  in  South-western  Color- 
ado. The  stream  rises  in  a  spur  of  the 
San  Juan  Mountains,  near  the  remote 
mining-camp  called  Parrott  City.  Flow- 
ing southward  for  a  few  miles  through  an 
open  valley,  it  is  soon  enclosed  between 
the  walls  of  a  profound  canon  which  cuts 
for  nearly  thirty  miles  through  a"  table- 

*  In  studying  the  ruins  of  the  Mancos  and  neigh- 
boring canons  I  have  made  constant  use  of  the 
reports  of  explorations  by  Mr.  W.  H.  Jackson  and 
Mr.  W.  H.  Holmes  in  Bulletins  of  U.  S.  Geolog.  and 
Geograph.  Survey,  Second  Series,  No.  i,  and  Annual 
Report  of  the  same  survey  for  1876. 


THE   RUINS   OF   THE    COLORADO    VALLEY. 


137 


land  called  the  Mesa  Verde.  The  canon 
is  wide  enough  to  permit  the  old  inhab- 
itants to  plant  their  crops  along  the 
stream,  and  the  cliffs  rising  on  either 
side  to  a  height  of  two  thousand  feet  are 
so  curiously  broken  and  grooved  and 
shelving,  from  the  decay  of  the  soft  hori- 
zontal strata  and  the  projection  of  the 
harder,  as  to  offer  remarkable  facilities 
for  building  fortified  houses  hard  of  ap- 
proach and  easy  of  defence.  Therefore 
the  whole  length  of  the  canon  is  filled 
with  ruins,  and  for  fifteen  miles  beyond 
it  to  the  borders  of  New  Mexico,  where 
the  river  meets  the  Rio  San  Juan,  the 
valley  bears  many  traces  of  the  ancient 
occupation.  The  scenery  of  the  canon 
is  wild  and  imposing  in  the  highest  de- 
gree: In  the  dry  Colorado  air  there  are 
few  lichens  or  weather-stains  to  dull  the 
brightness  of  the  strata  to  the  universal 
hoariness  of  moister  climates :  the  vertical 
cliffs,  standing  above  long  slopes  of  de- 
bris, are  colored  with  the  brilliant  tints 
of  freshly-quarried  stone.  A  gay  ribbon 
of  green  follows  the  course  of  the  rivulet 
winding  down  through  the  canon  till  it 
is  lost  to  sight  in  the  vista  of  crags. 
The  utter  silence  and  solitude  of  the  wil- 
derness reigns  through  the  valley.  It  is 
not  occupied  by  any  savage  tribe,  and 
only  a  few  white  men  within  the  last  few 
years  have  passed  through  it  and  told  of 
its  wonders ;  and  yet  its  whole  length  is 
but  one  series  of  houses  and  temples  that 
were  forsaken  centuries  ago.  I  can  hard- 
ly imagine  a  more  exciting  tour  of  explo- 
ration than  that  which  Mr.  Jackson's  party 
made  on  first  entering  this  canon  in  1874. 
Above  the  entrance  of  the  canon  the 
evidences  of  pre-historic  life  begin.  On 
the  bottom-land,  concealed  by  shrubbery, 
are  the  half-obliterated  outlines  of  square 
and  circular  buildings.  The  houses  were 
of  large  size,  and  were  plainly  no  tempo- 
rary dwelling-places,  for  an  accumulation 
of  decorated  pottery  fills  the  ground  about 
them,  indicating  long  occupation.  No 
doubt  they  were  built  of  adobe — masses 
of  hard  clay  dried  in  the  sun — which  the 
wear  of  ages  has  reduced  to  smoothly- 
rounded  mounds.  For  some  miles  down 
the  canon  remains  of  this  sort  occur  at 
short  intervals,  and  at  one  point  there 


stands  a  wall  built  of  squared  sandstone 
blocks.  Along  the  ledges  of  the  cliffs  on 
the  right  bits  of  ruinous  masonry  are  de- 
tected here  and  there,  but  for  a  time  there 
is  nothing  to  excite  close  attention.  At 
last  a  watchful  eye  is  arrested  by  a  more 
interesting  object  perched  at  a  tremendous 
height  on  the  western  wall  of  the  canon. 
It  is  a  house  built  upon  a  shelf  of  rock 
between  the  precipices,  but,  standing  sev- 
en hundred  feet  above  the  stream  and 
differing  not  at  all  in  color  from  the  crags 
about  it,  only  the  sharpest  eyesight  can 
detect  the  unusual  form  of  the  building 
and  the  windows  marking  the  two  stories. 
The  climb  up  to  the  house-platform  is 
slow  and  fatiguing,  but  the  trouble  is  re- 
paid by  a  sight  of  one  of  the  most  curi- 
ous ruins  on  this  continent.  Before  the 
door  of  the  house,  part  of  the  ledge  has 
been  reserved  for  a  little  esplanade,  and 
to  make  it  broader  three  small  abutments 
of  stone,  which  once  supported  a  floor, 
are  built  on  the  sloping  edge  of  the  rock. 
Beyond  this  the  house  is  entered  by  a 
small  aperture  which  served  as  a  door. 
It  is  the  best  specimen  of  a  Cliff-dweller's 
house  that  remains  to  our  time.  The  walls 
are  admirably  built  of  squared  stones  laid 
in  a  hard  white  mortar.  The  house  is 
divided  into  two  stories  of  three  rooms 
each.  Behind  it  a  semicircular  cistern 
nearly  as  high  as  the  house  is  built  against 
the  side  of  it,  and  a  ladder  is  arranged 
for  descending  from  an  upper  window  to 
the  water-level.  The  floor  of  the  second 
story  was  supported  by  substantial  cedar 
timbers,  but  only  fragments  of  them  re- 
main. The  roof,  too,  has  entirely  disap- 
peared, but  the  canopy  of  natural  rock 
overhanging  serves  to  keep  out  the  weath- 
er. The  front  rooms  in  both  stories  are 
the  largest  and  are  most  carefully  finish- 
ed. Perhaps  they  were  the  parlor  and 
"best  bedroom"  of  some  pre-historic 
housewife.  They  are  plastered  through- 
out with  fine  smooth  mortar,  and  even  in 
that  remote  age  the  mania  for  household 
decoration  had  a  beginning :  floor,  walls 
and  ceiling  were  colored  a  deep  red,  sur- 
rounded by  a  broad  border  of  white. 

The  same  cliff  on  which  this  house 
stands  has  on  its  side  many  other  ruins 
— some  half  destroyed  by  gradual  decay, 


THE   RUINS   OF  THE   COLORADO    VALLEY. 


some  crushed  by  falling  rocks,  none  so 
perfect  as  the  one  described ;  but  all  are 
crowded  into  the  strangest  unapproach- 
able crevices  of  the  canon-wall,  like  the 
crannies  which  swallows  choose  to  hold 
their  nests,  far  removed  from  the  pos- 
sibility of  depredation.  Some  are  so  ut- 
terly inaccessible  that  the  explorers,  with 


all  their  enthusiasm  and  activity,  have 
never  been  able  to  reach  them.  How 
any  beings  not  endowed  with  wings  could 
live  at  such  points  it  is  hard  to  conceive : 
it  makes  one  suspicious  that  the  Cliff- 
dwellers  had  not  quite  outgrown  the 
habits  of  monkey  ancestors. 

As  the  canon  widens  with  the  descent 


RUINS   IN  THE  CANON   OK  THE   MANGOS. 


of  the  stream,  the  ruins  in  the  western 
wall  increase  in  number.  One  fearful 
cliff  a  thousand  feet  in  height  is  chinked 
all  over  its  face  with  tiny  houses  of  one 
room  each,  but  only  a  few  of  them  can 
be  detected  with  the  naked  eye.  One, 
which  was  reached  by  an  explorer  at  the 
peril  of  his  life,  stands  intact :  ceiling  and 
floor  are  of  the  natural  rock,  and  the  wall 
is  built  in  a  neat  curve  conforming  to  the 
shape  of  the  ledge. 

A  mile  farther  down  the  stream  there 
is  a  most  interesting  group  of  houses. 


Eight  hundred  feet  above  the  valley 
there  is  a  shelf  in  the  cliff  sixty  feet  in 
length  that  is  quite  covered  by  a  house. 
The  building  contains  four  large  rooms, 
a  circular  sacred  apartment  and  smaller 
rooms  of  irregular  shape.  It  was  called 
by  its  discoverers  "The  House  of  the 
Sixteen  Windows."  Behind  this  house 
the  cliff-side  rises  smooth  and  perpen- 
dicular thirty  feet,  but  it  can  be  scaled 
by  an  ancient  stairway  cut  into  it  which 
ascends  to  a  still  higher  ledge.  The 
stairs  lead  to  the  very  door  of  another 


THE   RUINS   OF  THE    COLORADO    VALLEY. 


139 


house  filling  a  niche  a  hundred  and 
twenty  feet  long.  A  great  canopy  of 
solid  rock  overarches  the  little  fortress, 
reaching  far  forward  beyond  the  front 
wall,  while  from  below  it  is  absolutely 
unapproachable  except  by  the  one  dif- 
ficult stairway  of  niches  cut  in  the  rock. 
In  time  of  war  it  must  have  been  im- 
pregnable. These  dwellings  have  given 
more  ideas  about  their  interior  furnishing 
than  any  of  the  others.  Among  the  ac- 
cumulated rubbish  were  found  corn  and 
beans  stored  away.  In  the  lower  house 
were  two  large  water-jars  of  corrugated 
pottery  standing  on  a  floor  covered  with 
neatly-woven  rush  matting.  In  a  house 
not  far  above  were  found  a  bin  of  char- 
red corn,  and  a  polished  hatchet  of  stone 
made  with  remarkable  skill. 

From  this  point  onward  both  the  val- 
ley and  the  cliffs  are  filled  with  the  traces 
of  a  numerous  population,  every  mile  of 
travel  bringing  many  fresh  ones  into  sight. 
Among  the  cliff-houses  there  is  of  neces- 
sity a  variety  in  form  and  size  as  great  as 
the  differences  of  the  caves  and  crevices 
that  hold  them  ;  but  among  the  buildings 
of  the  low  ground  there  is  more  uniform- 
ity, not  only  in  this  canon,  but  in  all  the 
valleys  of  the  region.  Most  of  them  may 
be  classed  as  aggregated  dwellings  or 
pueblos  with  rectangular  rooms,  round 
watch-towers  and  large  circular  build- 
ings. To  these  must  be  added  a  few 
which  seem  to  have  been  built  only  for 
defence.  The  straight  walls  have  gene- 
rally fallen,  except  the  parts  supported 
by  an  angle  of  a  building ;  but,  as  usual 
in  old  masonry,  the  circular  walls  have 
much  better  resisted  decay. 

About  midway  down  the  canon  the 
curved  wall  of  a  large  ruin  rises  above 
the  thicket.  It  is  a  building  of  very  cu- 
rious design.  The  outer  wall  was  an  ex- 
act circle  of  heavy  masonry  a  hundred 
and  thirty  feet  in  circumference.  With- 
in, there  is  another  circular  wall,  concen- 
tric with  the  outer,  enclosing  one  round 
room  with  a  diameter  of  twenty  feet.  The 
annular  space  between  the  two  walls  was 
divided  by  partitions  into  ten  small  apart- 
ments. Other  buildings  of  the  same  type 
occur  in  this  region,,  some  of  much  larger 
size  and  with  triple  walls.  Even  in  this 


one,  which  is  comparatively  well  pre- 
served, the  original  height  is  uncertain, 
though  the  ruin  still  stands  about  fifteen 
feet  high.  The  vast  quantity  of  debris 
about  some  of  them  indicates  that  they 
were  of  no  insignificant  height,  and  their 
perfect  symmetry  of  form,  the  careful  fin- 
ish of  the  masonry,  the  large  dimensions 
•and  great  solidity,  made  them  the  most 
imposing  architectural  works  of  that  an- 
cient people.  I  find  no  reason  to  doubt 
that  they  were  their  temples,  and  the 
presumption  is  very  strong  that  they 
were  temples  for  sun-worship.  The  oc- 
currence of  a  circular  room  in  connec- 
tion with  nearly  every  group  of  buildings 
is  of  special  interest,  as  seeming  to  link 
the  Cliff-dwellers  to  the  modern  Pueblo 
tribes  in  their  religious  customs. 

Most  striking  and  picturesque  of  all 
the  ruins  are  the  round  watch-towers. 
On  commanding  points  in  the  valley, 
and  on  the  highest  pinnacles  of  the 
cliffs  overlooking  the  surface  of  the 
mesa,  they  occur  with  a  frequency  which 
is  almost  pathetic  as  an  indication  of  the 
life  of  eternal  vigilance  which  was  led 
by  that  old  race  through  the  years,  per- 
haps centuries,  of  exterminating  warfare 
which  the  savage  red  men  from  the  North 
waged  upon  them.  To  us  the  suffering 
of  frontier  families  at  the  hands  of  the 
same  bloodthirsty  savages  is  heartrend- 
ing. What  was  it  to  those  who  saw  year 
by  year  their  whole  race's  life  withering 
away,  crushed  by  those  wild  tribes  ? 

Near  the  lower  end  of  the  canon  stands 
one  of  the  most  perfect  of  these  towers, 
rising  sixteen  feet  above  the  mound  on 
which  it  is  built.  It  was  once  attached 
to  an  oblong  stone  building  which  seems 
to  have  been  a  strongly-fortified  house. 
The  rectangular  walls,  as  usual,  are  pros- 
trate, and  have  left  the  tower  standing  as 
solitary  and  picturesque  and  as  full  of 
mystery  as  the  round-towers  of  Ireland. 

After  the  stream  breaks  from  its  long 
confinement  out  into  the  open  plain  of 
the  San  Juan  Valley  the  traces  of  old  life 
are  still  abundant,  but  they  present  no 
features  very  different  from  those  above. 
At  the  canon's  mouth  an  Indian  trail 
strikes  away  toward  the  north-west.  It 
passes  a  remarkable  group  of  ruins  at  a 


140 


THE  RUINS   OF  THE   COLORADO    VALLEY. 


spot  called  Aztec  Springs,  and  continues 
to  the  McElmo,  the  next  arroya,  or  dry 
stream -bed,  west  of  the  Rio  Mancos. 
Aztec  Springs  no  longer  deserve  the 
name,  for  within  a  short  time  the  last 
trace  of  water  has  disappeared  from  the 
spot,  showing  that  the  slow  drying  up  of 
the  great  South-west  country,  which  has 
been  going  forward  for  ages,  and  which 
starved  out  the  old  inhabitants,  is  still 
progressing.  In  the  dry  season  there  is 
no  water  within  many  miles  of  this  spot, 
though  it  is  strewn  with  the  remains  of 
stone  buildings  covering  several  acres 


and  indicating  a  large  population  of  in- 
dustrious people  who  must  have  lived  by 
agriculture.  Until  a  long  comparative 
study  has  been  made  of  all  the  remains 
of  this  race  it  is  mere  guesswork  to  esti- 
mate the  age  of  the  ruins ;  but  when  the 
prostrate  condition  of  these  walls  is  com- 
pared with  the  state  in  which  the  Chaco 
ruins  of  New  Mexico  are  found,  and  when 
we  consider  that  the  latter  have  no  doubt 
been  deserted  for  at*  least  three  hundred 
and  fifty  years,  it  is  reasonable  to  sup- 
pose an  age  of  a  thousand  years  for 
these  massive  walls  at  Aztec  Springs. 


CIRCULAR   RUIN   IN   THE  O 


Many  other  great  structures  of  this  re- 
gion, which  seem  to  be  coeval  with  these, 
are  situated  many  miles  away  from  any 
perennial  water,  and  the  time  which  has 
elapsed  since  those  sites  were  suitable  for 
large  farming-towns  must  be  counted  by 
centuries.  In  this  group  are  two  large 
quadrangular  buildings  with  walls  still 
fifteen  feet  high,  two  of  the  circular  es- 
tufas,  besides  a  multitude  of  half-distin- 
guishable walls  of  dwellings.  It  is  the 
largest  group  of  ruins  in  Colorado. 

Not  many  miles  beyond  these  so-called 
springs  the  trail  leads  into  the  dry  bed  of 


.a. 

THE  MANCOS. 

the  McElmo  near  its  head,  and  another 
long  succession  of  antiquities  is  entered 
upon ,  but  to  enumerate  them  further  would 
be  tedious,  for  the  ruins  of  the  Mancos  are 
good  representatives  of  all  those  which 
are  found  along  the  courses  of  the  Ani- 
mas,  La  Plata,  McElmo,  Montezuma, 
Chelley  and  other  tributary  valleys  of 
the  San  Juan.  Nevertheless,  there  are 
a  few  buildings  here  and  there  of  some 
unusual  interest  which  cannot  be  passed 
by  without  mention.  On  the  verge  of  a 
little  side-canon  of  the  McElmo  there  is 
a  curious  instance  of  the  keen  ingenuity 


THE   RUINS   OF   THE    COLORADO    VALLEY. 


141 


of  this  people  in  taking  every  advantage 
of  the  fantastic,  castle-like  shapes  which 
Nature  has  formed  out  of  the  canon-walls. 
High  on  the  edge  of  the  mesa  appears 
the  ragged  outline  of  a  ruinous  watch- 
tower  sharply  drawn  against  the  clear, 
unvarying  blue  of  the  sky.  It  seems  to 
be  a  tower  of  unusual  height,  but  a  closer 
view  shows  it  to  be  half  of  Nature's  build- 
ing. A  tall  fragment  of  rock,  torn  from 
its  bed,  has  rolled  down  the  slope  to  the 
edge  of  the  steep  descent.  This  rock  the 
old  builders  have  chosen  to  crown  with  a 
little  round  tower  where  a  sentinel,  guard- 
ing the  village  behind  him  from  stealthy 
attacks,  could  command  a  wide  sweep  of 
country.  The  same  thing  on  a  larger  scale 
is  found  at  another  point  where  the  dry 
McElrno  meets  with  the  drier  Hoven- 
weep  —  a  tributary  without  tribute.  In 
this  position  stands  an  enormous  rock 
nearly  cubical  in  shape.  Its  high  sides 
make  it  a  natural  fortress  strong  against 
an  enemy  without  artillery,  and  to  its 
natural  strength  the  Cliff-dwellers  have 
added  a  battlement  of  masonry.  But 
among  all  the  ruined  strongholds  of  the 
region  that  which  is  called  the  Legendary 
Rock  has  a  pre-eminent  interest  on  account 
of  the  Moqui  romance  or  tradition  which 
clings  to  it.  The  rock  is  a  grand  and  soli- 
tary crag  standing  on  a  plateau  of  sand- 
stone from  which  the  soil  is  washed  away. 
It  is  far  from  water :  a  garrison  must  have 
been  dependent  wholly  on  the  very  pre- 
carious rain-supply.  About  it  runs  an 
outer  rampart  of  stone,  and  on  the  rock 
itself  is  built  a  fortress.  It  is  several 
years  since  an  aged  member  of  the  Mo- 
qui tribe  first  confided  to  a  white  man 
versed  in  his  language  the  legend  of  this 
rock.  It  has  been  widely  published,  and 
considered  of  much  significance.  The 
Moqui  patriarch  related  how  his  people 
in  the  old  time  were  many.  Their  tribe 
dwelt  in  the  North-east.  One  year  they 
were  visited  by  strangers  from  the  North, 
who  came  peaceably  at  first,  but  came 
again  another  year,  and  year  by  year  en- 
croached and  grew  more  warlike.  At 
last  the  Northern  strangers  gained  the 
mastery  and  drove  them  from  their 
homes.  In  a  long,  slow  struggle  the  Mo- 
qui forefathers  gradually  lost  their  ground, 


till  at  last  they  made  one  final,  desperate 
fight  for  their  old  homes  at  the  fortress 
of  the  Legendary  Rock.  They  conquered 
their  besiegers,  but  with  such  fearful  car- 
nage that  the  rocks  bear  still  the  stains 
of  the  blood-streams  that  flowed  in  that 
battle,  and  the  remnant  of  the  besieged 
were  glad  to  make  an  unmolested  retreat 
to  the  mesas  of  Arizona,  where  they  dwell 
to  this  day. 

The  story  is  an  interesting  one,  and 
has  been  honored  by  the  explorers  with 
a  place  in  their  government  report,  for  it 
shows  a  belief  among  the  Moquis  that 
those  old  builders  were  their  kinsmen. 
But,  considering  the  fact  that  the  first 
Spanish  discoverers  found  the  Moqui 
tribe  in  nearly  the  same  condition  as  we 
see  it  now,  and  that  this  story  there- 
fore must  have  been  handed  down  for  at 
least  three  hundred  years  among  an  un- 
lettered people,  I  am  as  much  disposed 
to  distrust  the  other  details  of  it  as  I  am 
to  doubt  that  the  red  iron  -  stains  in  the 
rock  were  caused  by  the  blood  of  their 
ancestors. 

In  the  neighboring  Montezuma  Canon, 
just  beyond  the  State  border,  there  are 
some  remains  built  after  an  unusual  man- 
ner with  stones  of  great  size.  One  build- 
ing of  many  rooms,  nearly  covering  a  little 
solitary  mesa,  is  constructed  of  huge  stone 
blocks  not  unlike  the  pre-historic  masonry 
of  Southern  Europe.  In  the  same  dis- 
trict there  is  a  ruined  line  of  fortification 
from  which  the  smaller  stones  have  fallen 
away  and  are  crumbling  to  dust,  leaving 
only  certain  enormous  upright  stones 
standing.  They  rise  to  a  height  of  sev- 
en feet  above  the  soil,  and  the  lower  part 
is  buried  to  a  considerable  depth.  Their 
resemblance  to  the  hoary  Druidical  stones 
of  Carnac  and  Stonehenge  is  striking,  and 
there  is  nothing  in  their  appearance  to  in- 
dicate that  they  belong  to  a  much  later 
age  than  those  primeval  monuments  of 
Europe. 

All  the  certain  knowledge  that  we  have 
of  the  history  and  manners  of  the  Cliff- 
dwellers  may  be  very  briefly  told,  for 
there  is  no  written  record  of  their  exist- 
ence except  their  own  rude  picture-wri- 
ting cut  or  painted  on  the  canon-walls, 
and  it  is  not  likely  that  those  hieroglyph- 


142 


THE   RUINS   OF  THE   COLORADO    VALLEY. 


ics  will  ever  be  deciphered.  But  much 
may  be  inferred  from  their  evident  kin- 
ship to  the  Moquis  of  our  time ;  and  the 
resemblance  of  the  ancient  architecture 
and  ceramics  to  the  arts  as  they  are  still 
practised  in  the  degenerate  pueblos  of 
Arizona  gives  us  many  intimations  in  re- 
gard to  the  habits  of  the  Cliff-dwellers. 

It  was  centuries  ago — how  long  a  time 
no  one  will  ever  know — when  that  old 
race  was  strong  and  numerous,  filling  the 
great  region  from  the  Rio  Grande  to  the 


Colorado  of  the  West,  and  from  the  San 
Juan  Mountains  far  down  into  Northern 
Mexico.  They  must  have  numbered  many 
hundreds  of  thousands,  perhaps  millions. 
It  is  not  probable  that  they  were  combined 
under  one  government  or  that  they  were 
even  closely  leagued  together,  but  that 
they  were  essentially  one  in  blood  and 
language  is  strongly  indicated  by  the 
similarity  of  their  remains.  That  they 
were  sympathetic  in  a  common  hostility 
to  the  dangerous  savage  tribes  about  them 


RUINS  AT  AZTEC  SPRINGS. 


tan  hardly  be  doubted/  They  were  of 
peaceful  habits  and  lived  by  agriculture, 
having  under  cultivation  many  thousands 
of  acres  in  the  rich  river-bottoms,  which 
they  knew  well  how  to  irrigate  from 
streams  swollen  in  summer  by  the  melt- 
ing snows  of  the  high  mountain-ranges. 
We  read  of  their  dry  canals  in  Arizona, 
so  deep  that  a  mounted  horseman  can 
hide  in  them.  We  know  that  they  raised 
crops  of  corn  and  beans,  and  in  the  south 
cotton,  which  they  skilfully  wove.  That 
they  had  commercial  dealings  across  their 
whole  country  is  shown  by  the  quantity 
of  shell-ornaments  brought  from  the  Pa- 
cific coast  which  are  found  in  their  Col- 
orado dwellings.  They  did  not  under- 
stand the  working  of  metals,  but  their 
implements  of  stone  are  of  most  excel- 
lent workmanship.  Their  weapons  in- 


dicate the  practice  of  hunting,  and  while 
the  race  was  still  numerous  their  forts  and 
their  sharp  obsidian  arrows  made  easy 
their  resistance  to  the  wandering  savage 
hordes. 

I  believe  that  no  instance  can  be  cited 
of  a  people  still  in  their  Stone  Age  who 
have  surpassed  that  old  race  in  the  ma- 
son's art :  indeed,  I  doubt  if  any  such 
people  has  even  approached  their  skill 
in  that  respect.  The  difficulty  of  con- 
structing a  great  work  of  well-squared, 
hammer-dressed  stones  is  enormously  in- 
creased if  the  masons  must  work  only 
with  stone  implements.  Imagine  the  in- 
finite, toilsome  patience  of  a  people  who 
in  such  a  way  could  rear  the  ancient  Pue- 
blo Bonito  of  New  Mexico,  five  hundred 
and  forty  feet  long,  three  hundred  and 
fourteen  wide  and  four  stories  high  !  In 


THE  RUINS   OF  THE   COLORADO    VALLEY. 


143 


one  wall  of  a  neighboring  building  of 
stone  less  carefully  dressed  it  is  estimated 
that  there  were  originally  no  less  than 
thirty  million  pieces,  which  were  trans- 
ported, fashioned  and  laid  by  men  with- 
out a  beast  of  burden  or  a  trowel,  chisel 
or  hammer  of  metal. 

Nothing  marks  more  strikingly  the  vast 
advance  which  these  people  had  made 
from  the  condition  of  their  savage  neigh- 
bors than  their  evident  efforts  not  only  for 
household  comfort,  but  even  for  the  beau- 
tifying of  their  homes.  I  have  referred 
to  the  rush-carpeted  floor  of  the  "House 
of  the  Sixteen  Windows"  and  the  deco- 
rated walls  of  the  two-story  house  on  the 
Mancos ;  but  they,  like  other  semicivilized 
peoples,  found  the  first  expression  for  their 
love  of  the  beautiful  in  the  ceramic  art. 
The  variety  of  graceful  forms  and  deco- 
rations found  in  their  pottery  is  endless. 
In  some  regions  the  country  for  miles  is 
strewn  with  the  fragments  of  their  earth- 
enware. The  ware  is  usually  pale  gray 
shading  to  white :  the  decoration  is  in 
black  or  red,  often  in  the  angular  designs 
commonly  called  "Greek  patterns."  The 
Moquis  of  our  time  produce  a  handsome 
ware  closely  resembling  that  of  the  an- 
cient people.  But  the  old  cliff-painters 
and  the  modern  potters  often  sacrificed 
beauty  to  a  passion  for  producing  the 
most  wildly-grotesque  forms.  There  is  a 
certain  general  resemblance,  which  often 
strikes  me  forcibly,  but  which  is  almost  in- 
definable, between  the  ceramic  and  sculp- 
tured forms  of  the  Mississippi  Mound- 
builders,  the  Pueblo  tribes  and  the  an- 
cient Mexicans.  The  resemblance  seems 
to  lie  partly  in  a  certain  capacity  which 
those  peoples  possessed  in  common  of 
producing  the  most  frightfully-grotesque 
forms  ever  evolved  by  the  human  imag- 
ination— forms  plainly  intended  to  suggest 
living  beings,  yet  not  at  all  transgressing 
the  injunction  against  "anything  that  is  in 
the  heaven  above,  or  that  is  in  the  earth 
beneath,  or  that  is  in  the  waters  under  the 
earth."  The  resemblance  seems  to  me 
very  significant. 

At  the  time  of  the  Spanish  conquest  the 
Pueblo  tribes  were  worshippers  of  the  sun 
and  fire,  like  all  the  races  of  this  conti- 
nent which  were  above  barbarism.  To- 


day, even  in  those  pueblos  where  a  cor- 
rupted form  of  the  Roman  faith  is  accept- 
ed, there  are  traces  of  the  old  sun-wor- 
ship mingled  with  it,  and  in  all  pueblos 
there  are  large  circular  rooms  called  es- 
tufas  reserved  for  councils  and  for  wor- 
ship. The  invariable  appearance  of  es- 
tufas  among  the  ruined  towns,  and  even 
on  the  ledges  of  the  cliffs,  shows  what 
sacredness  was  attached  to  the  circular 
room,  which  perhaps  was  symbolic  of 
the  sun's  orb :  it  indicates  a  unity  of  re- 
ligious faith  between  the  ancients  and 
moderns. 

The  priest  who  chronicled  the  events 
of  the  first  expedition  to  New  Mexico  was 
impressed  with  the  great  ruined  towns 
which  they  saw  even  before  crossing  the 
desert  of  Arizona.  There  is  good  rea- 
son to  believe  that  the  cliff-dwellings,  the 
last  retreats  of  a  persecuted  people,  were 
abandoned  before  that  time.  But  how 
could  a  people  so  numerous,  intelligent 
and  civilized  fall  a  prey  to  stupid,  roving 
savages  ?  The  wild  tribes  never  could 
have  won  the  fight  against  their  more 
quick  -  wilted  neighbors  if  the  ancients 
had  not  begun  their  own  destruction. 

The  story  which  they  have  left  record- 
ed on  the  face  of  the  country  is  of  this 
sort.  At  some  very  remote  time  they 
began  agriculture  in  the  valleys  of  the 
South-west.  They  found  the  rainfall  of 
the  region  too  limited  for  farming  with- 
out irrigation,  but  the  whole  country  was 
intersected  by  streams  fed  through  sum- 
mer by  the  snows  of  the  mountain-tops 
and  the  abundant  springs  of  the  wooded 
slopes  and  uplands.  Thus  their  crops 
were  watered  and  yielded  increase  with 
a  regularity  unknown  to  farmers  who 
must  look  to  the  summer  rainfall  for 
success.  The  people  prospered,  multi- 
plied and  spread  over  a  wide  country. 
In  every  green  valley  rose  their  great 
common  dwellings  and  circular  temples. 
By  superior  numbers  and  intelligence 
they  were  strong  against  their  enemies. 
But  the  spreading  population  required  a 
great  wood  -  supply.  The  finest  of  the 
trees  were  felled  for  timbering  their 
houses,  and  whole  forests  were  swept 
away  to  give  them  fuel  and  perhaps  to 
feed  perpetual  sacred  fires.  The  coun- 


"44 


THE   RUINS   OF  THE   COLORADO    VALLEY. 


try  was  all  too  little  watered  at  the  best, 
and  the  mountain-sides,  once  stripped  of 
their  covering,  oftentimes  dried  up  and 
no  new  growth  of  trees  appeared.  Old 
men  began  to  observe  that  the  streams 
did  not  maintain  their  even  flow  through 
the  whole  year  as  when  they  were  young, 
and  lamented  the  good  old  times  when 
there  was  no  lack  of  water  for  irrigation. 
The  streams  began  to  be  swollen  with 
disastrous  floods  in  spring  and  winter, 
and  to  dwindle  away  alarmingly  in  sum- 


mer. So  through  centuries  the  gradual 
destruction  of  the  wood  brought  ever- 
increasing  drought,  and  drought  led  in 
its  train  famine,  disease  and  wholesale 
death.  The  people  were  decimated  and 
discouraged,  and  on  the  northern  fron- 
tier began  to  be  at  the  mercy  of  savage 
raiders.  They  fled  from  their  pleasant 
valley-homes  to  hide  in  caves  and  dens 
of  the  earth,  and  built  the  cliff-dwellings. 
There  a  remnant  lingered  in  unceasing 
fear  of  the  foes  who  coveted  the  fruits  of 


RUINS    IN   MONTEZUMA  CANON. 


their  toil ;  but  even  from  these  refuges 
they  were  driven  ages  ago.  Where  they 
used  to  build  villages  and  cultivate  fields 
are  now  barren  gulches  where  two  or 
three  times  a  year  a  resistless  flood  rushes 
down  from  the  mountains  that  can  no 
longer  retain  their  moisture.  Thus  end- 
ed their  national  suicide. 

It  was  a  strange  ignorance  that  led 
them  to  their  own  destruction,  was  it 
not?  Yet  we  as  a  nation  from  Maine 
to  California  are  recklessly  working  the 
same  ruin.  We  are  stripping  our  moun- 
tains a  hundred  times  more  rapidly  than 
they,  but  who  cares  whether  the  forests 
are  restored  ? 

As  a  child  I  played  and  bathed  in  a 
pretty  tumbling  brook  among  the  Litch- 
field  hills,  and  wondered  that  so  small  a 
stream  but  fifty  years  before  had  given 


power  to  all  the  mills  now  ruined  on  its 
banks.  Twenty  years  more  have  passed, 
and  now  in  the  heat  of  summer  there  is 
hardly  water  for  a  child  to  bathe.  The 
hills  are  stripped,  the  stream  has  dwin- 
dled, but  the  spring  floods  tear  through 
the  valley  like  a  deluge.  Even  the  larger 
streams  that  still  turn  the  mill-wheels  and 
make  the  wealth  of  Connecticut  are  not 
the  trusty  servants  that  they  once  were. 
In  summer  they  grow  weak  and  must  be 
supplemented  with  steam,  and  at  times 
they  rise  in  fury  and  carry  destruction  be- 
fore them.  It  is  the  beginning  of  woes, 
but  our  Atlantic  slope  with  its  heavy  rain- 
fall cannot  easily  be  changed  to  a  desert. 
In  the  far  West  it  is  different.  Colorado, 
Nevada  and  California,  with  a  less  regular 
rainfall  and  with  greater  floods  and  small- 
er streams,  would  soon  find  the  desert  en- 


AN  HISTORICAL   ROCKY-MOUNTAIN   OUTPOST. 


croaching  on  the  habitable  land.  But  in 
these  very  States  the  waste  of  timber  is 
most  extravagant.  Mining -camps  and 
cities  devour  the  woods  about  them,  and 
in  every  dry  summer  many  hundred 
square  miles  are  burned  by  the  reckless- 
ness of  Indians  and  white  men.  Where 
the  Californian  mountains  have  been 
cleared,  the  browsing  millions  of  sheep 
keep  down  all  new  growth,  and,  bring- 


ing great  wealth  in  our  age,  they  threaten 
to  impoverish  posterity. 

The  dreary  experiment  has  been  tried 
by  the  ancient  races  of  both  continents. 
Why  should  we  repeat  it  ?  The  question 
should  command  the  earnest  attention  of 
State  and  national  governments.  In  our 
own  land  already  one  old  race  has  wrought 
its  own  destruction  in  this  same  way. 


AN  HISTORICAL  ROCKY-MOUNTAIN  OUTPOST. 


GOING  TO  THE  JUDGE'S. 


THE  day  might  have  graced  the  month 
of  June,  so  balmy  was  the  air,  so 
warmly  shone  the  sun  from  a  cloudless 
sky.  But  the  snow -covered  mountain- 
range  whose  base  we  were  skirting,  the 
leafless  cotton  woods  fringing  the  Fon- 
taine qui  Bouille  and  the  sombre  plains 
that  stretched  away  to  the  eastern  hori- 
zon told  a  different  story.  It  was  on  one 
of  those  days  elsewhere  so  rare,  but  so 
common  in  Colorado,  when  a  summer 
sky  smiles  upon  a  wintry  landscape,  that 
we  entered  a  town  in  whose  history  are 
to  be  found  greater 'contrasts  than  even 
those  afforded  by  earth  and  sky.  To- 
10 


day  Pueblo  is  a  thriving  and  aggressive 
city,  peopled  with  its  quota  of  that  great 
pioneer  army  which  is  carrying  civiliza- 
tion over  the  length  and  breadth  of  our 
land.  Three  hundred  and  forty  years 
ago,  as  legend  hath  it,  Coronado  here 
stopped  his  northward  march,  and  on 
the  spot  where  Pueblo  now  stands  es- 
tablished the  farthermost  outpost  of  New 
Spain. 

The  average  traveller  who  journeys 
westward  from  the  Missouri  River  imag- 
ines that  he  is  coming  to  a  new  country. 
"The  New  West"  is  a  favorite  term  with 
the  agents  of  land  -  companies  and  the 


146 


AN  HISTORICAL    ROCKY-MOUNTAIN  OUTPOST. 


writers  of  alluring  railway-guides.  These 
enterprising  advocates  sometimes  indulge 
in  nights  of  rhetoric  that  scorn  the  tram- 
mels of  grammar  and  dictionary.  Wit- 
ness the  following  impassioned  utterances 
concerning  the  lands  of  a  certain  West- 
ern railroad :  "  They  comprise  a  section 
of  country  whose  possibilities  are  simply 
infinitesimal,  and  whose  developments 
will  be  revealed  in  glorious  realization 
through  the  horoscope  of  the  near  fu- 
ture." This  verbal  architect  builded 
wiser  than  he  knew,  for  what  more  fit- 
ting word  could  the  imagination  suggest 
wherewith  to  crown  the  possibilities  of 
alkali  wastes  and  barren,  sun -scorched 
plains  ? 

A  considerable  part  of  the  New  West 
of  to-day  was  explored  by  the  Spaniards 
more  than  three  centuries  ago.  Before 
the  English  had  landed  at  Plymouth 
Rock  or  made  a  settlement  at  James- 
town they  had  penetrated  to  the  Rocky 
Mountains  and  given  to  peak  and  riv- 
er their  characteristic  names.  Southern 
Colorado,  New  Mexico  and  Arizona  have 
been  the  theatres  wherein  were  enacted 
deeds  of  daring  and  bravery  perhaps  un- 
surpassed by  any  people  and  any  age ; 
and  that,  too,  centuries  before  they  be- 
came a  part  of  our  American  Union.  The 
whole  country  is  strewn  over  with  the 
ruins  of  a  civilization  in  comparison  with 
which  our  own  of  to-day  seems  feeble. 
And  he  who  journeys  across  the  Plains 
till  he  reaches  the  Sangre  del  Cristo 
Mountains  or  the  blue  Sierra  Mojadas 
enters  a  land  made  famous  by  the  ex- 
ploits of  Coronado,  De  Vaca  and  per- 
haps of  the  great  Montezuma  himself. 

In  the  year  1540,  Francisco  Vasquez 
de  Coronado  was  sent  by  the  Spanish 
viceroy  of  Mexico  to  explore  the  regions 
to  the  north.  Those  mountain  -  peaks, 
dim  and  shadowy  in  the  distance  and 
seeming  to  recede  as  they  were  approach- 
ed, had  ever  been  an  alluring  sight  to 
the  gold  -  seeking  Spaniards.  But  the 
coveted  treasure  did  not  reveal  itself  to 
their  cursory  search ;  and  though  they 
doubtless  pushed  as  far  north  as  the  Ar- 
kansas River,  they  returned  to  the  cap- 
ital from  what  they  considered  an  unsuc- 
cessful expedition.  The  way  was  opened, 


however,  and  in  1595  the  Spaniards  came 
to  what  is  now  the  Territory  of  New  Mex- 
ico and  founded  the  city  of  Santa  Fe\ 
They  had  found,  for  the  most  part,  a 
settled  country,  the  inhabitants  living  in 
densely  -  populated  villages,  or  pueblos, 
and  evincing  a  rather  high  degree  of  civ- 
ilization. Their  dwellings  of  mud  bricks, 
or  adobes,  were  all  built  upon  a  single 
plan,  and  consisted  of  a  square  or  rect- 
angular fort-like  structure  enclosing  an 
open  space.  Herds  of  sheep  and  goats 
grazed  upon  the  hillsides,  while  the  bot- 
tom-lands were  planted  with  corn  and 
barley.  Thus  lived  and  flourished  the 
Pueblo  Indians,  a  race  the  origin  of 
which  lies  in  obscurity,  but  connected 
with  which  are  many  legends  of  absorb- 
ing interest.  All  their  traditions  point  to 
Montezuma  as  the  founder  and  leader  of 
their  race,  and  likewise  to  their  descent 
from  the  Aztecs.  But  their  glory  depart- 
ed with  the  coming  of  Cortez,  and  their 
Spanish  conquerors  treated  them  as  an 
inferior  race.  Revolting  against  their  op- 
pressors in  1680,  they  were  reconquered 
thirteen  years  later,  though  subsequently 
allowed  greater  liberty.  By  the  treaty  of 
Guadalupe-Hidalgo  in  1848  they  became 
citizens  of  the  United  States.  From  one 
extreme  of  government  to  another  has 
drifted  this  remnant  of  a  stately  race,  till 
now  at  last  it  finds  itself  safely  sheltered 
in  the  arms  of  our  great  republic. 

Such  is  the  romantic  history  of  a  por- 
tion of  our  so-called  "New  West;"  but 
it  was  with  a  view  of  ascertaining  some 
facts  concerning  .occurrences  of  more 
recent  date,  as  well  as  of  seeing  some  of 
the  actors  therein,  that  we  paid  a  visit  to 
Pueblo.  We  found  it  a  rather  odd  mix- 
ture of  the  old  and  the  new,  the  adobe 
and  the  "dug-out"  looking  across  the 
street  upon  the  imposing  structure  of 
brick  or  the  often  gaudily-painted  frame 
cottage.  It  looked  as  though  it  might 
have  been  indulging  in  a  Rip  Van  Win- 
kle sleep,  except  that  the  duration  might 
have  been  a  century  or  two.  H  igh  mesas 
with  gracefully  rounded  and  convoluted 
sides  almost  entirely  surround  it,  and 
rising  above  their  floor -like  tops,  and 
in  fine  contrast  with  their  sombre  brown 
tints,  appear  the  blue  outlines  of  the  di? 


AN  HISTORICAL   ROCKY-MOUNTAIN  OUTPOST. 


tant  mountains.  Pike's 
Peak,  fifty  miles  to  the 
north,  and  the  Spanish 
Peaks,  the  Wawatoyas, 
ninety  to  the  south,  are 
sublime  objects  of  which 
the  eye  never  grows 
weary ;  while  the  Sier- 
ra Mojadas  bank  up  the 
western  horizon  with  a. 
frowning  mountain- 
wall.  A  notch  in  the 
distant  range,  forty 
miles  to  the  north-west, 
indicates  the  place 
where  the  Arkansas 
River  breaks  through 
the  barriers  that  would 
impede  its  seaward 
course,  forming  per- 
haps the  grandest  canon 
to  be  found 'in  all  this 
mighty  mountain  -  wil- 
derness. Truly  a  stri- 
king picture  was  that 
on  which  Coronado  and 
his  mail-clad  warriors 
gazed. 

A  motley  throng  com- 
pose the  inhabitants  of 
Pueblo.  The  dark-hued 
Mexican,  his  round  face 
shaded  by  the  inevitable 
sombrero,  figures  con- 
spicuously. But  if  you 
value  his  favor  and  your 
future  peace  of  mind 
have  a  care  how  you 
allude  to  his  national- 
ity. He  is  a  Spaniard, 
you  should  know  —  a 
pure  Castilian  whose 
ancestor  was  some  old 
hidalgo  with  as  long  an 
array  of  names  and 
titles  as  has  the  Czar  of 
All  the  Russias  himself. 
Though  he  now  lives 
in  a  forsaken -looking 
adobe  hut  with  dirt  floor 
and  roof  of  sticks  and 
turf  that  serves  only  to 
defile  the  raindrops  that 
trickle  through  its  manv 


148 


AN  HISTORICAL   ROCKY-MOUNTAIN  OUTPOST. 


gaps —  though  his  sallow  wife  and  ill- 
favored  children  huddle  round  him  or 
cook  the  scanty  meal  upon  the  mud  oven 
in  a  corner  of  the  room  —  he  is  yet  a 
Spaniard,  and  glories  in  it.  The  tall, 
raw-boned  man,  straight  as  a  young  cot- 
tonwood,  whose  long  black  hair  floats 
out  from  beneath  his  hat  as  he  rides  into 
town  from  his  ranch  down  the  river,  may 
be  a  half-breed  who  has  figured  in  a  score 
of  Indian  fights,  and  enjoys  the  proud  dis- 
tinction of  having  killed  his  man.  There 
is  the  hungry-looking  prospector,  waiting 
with  ill-disguised  impatience  till  he  can 
"cross the  Range"  and  follow  again,  as 
he  has  done  year  after  year,  the  exciting 
chase  after  the  ever-receding  mirage — 
the  visions  of  fabulous  wealth  always  go- 
ing to  be,  but  never  quite,  attained.  The 
time-honored  symbol  of  Hope  must,  we 
think,  give  place  to  a  more  forcible  rep- 
resentation furnished  by  the  peculiar  ge- 
nius of  our  times  ;  for  is  not  our  modern 
Rocky-Mountain  prospector  the  complete 
embodiment  of  that  sublime  grace  ?  His 
is  a  hope  that  even  reverses  the  proverb, 
for  no  amount  of  deferring  is  able  to  make 
him  heartsick,  but  rather  seems  to  spur 
him  on  to  more  earnest  endeavor.  Has 
he  toiled  the  summer  long,  endured  ev- 
ery privation,  encountered  inconceivable 
perils,  only  to  find  himself  at  its  close 
poorer  than  when  he  began  ?  Reluctant- 
ly he  leaves  the  mountain  -  side  where 
the  drifting  snows  have  begun  to  gather, 
but  seemingly  as  light-hearted  as  when 
he  came,  for  his  unshaken  hope  bridges 
the  winter  and  feeds  upon  the  limitless 
possibilities  of  the  future.  Full  of  won- 
derful stories  are  these  same  hope  -  sus- 
tained prospectors — tales  that  are  bright 
with  the  glitter  of  silver  and  gold.  Not 
a  single  one  of  them  who  has  not  discov- 
ered "leads"  of  wonderful  richness  or 
"placers"  where  the  sands  were  yellow 
with  gold ;  but  by  some  mischance  the 
prize  always  slipped  out  of  his  grasp, 
and  left  him  poor  in  all  but  hope.  And 
in  truth  so  fascinating  becomes  the  occu- 
pation that  men  who  in  other  respects 
seem  cool  and  phlegmatic  will  desert  an 
almost  assured  success  to  join  the  horde 
rushing  toward  some  unexplored  district, 
impelled  by  the  ever-flying  rumors  of  un- 


told wealth  just  brought  to  light.  The 
golden  goal  this  season  is  the  great  Gun- 
nison  Country ;  and  soon  trains  of  burros, 
packed  with  pick  and  shovel,  tent  and 
provisions,  will  be  climbing  the  Range. 

Pueblo  has  likewise  its  business-men, 
its  men  of  to-day,  who  manage  its  banks, 
who  buy  and  sell  and  get  gain  as  they 
might  do  in  any  well-ordered  city,  though, 
truth  to  tell,  there  are  very  few  of  them 
who  do  not  sooner  or  later  catch  the  pre- 
vailing infection — a  part  of  whose  assets 
is  not  represented  by  some  "  prospect " 
away  up  in  the  mountains  or  frisking 
about  the  Plains  in  herds  of  cattle  and 
sheep.  But  perhaps  the  most  curiously- 
original  character  in  all  the  town  is  Judge 
Allen  A.  Bradford,  of  whose  wonderful 
memory  the  following  good  story  is  told  : 
Years  ago  he,  with  a  party  of  officers,  was 
at  the  house  of  Colonel  Boone,  down  the 
river.  While  engaged  in  playing  "  pitch- 
trump,"  of  which  the  judge  was  very  fond 
— and  in  fact  the  only  game  of  cards  with 
which  he  was  acquainted — a  messenger 
rushed  in  announcing  that  a  lady  had 
fallen  from  her  horse  and  was  doubtless 
much  injured.  The  players  left  their 
cards  and  ran  to  render  assistance,  and 
the  game  thus  broken  up  was  not  re- 
sumed. Some  two  years  later  the  same 
parties  found  themselves  together  again, 
and  "  pitch-trump  "  was  proposed.  To  the 
astonishment  of  all,  the  judge  informed 
them  how  the  score  stood  when  they  had 
so  hurriedly  left  the  game,  and  with  the 
utmost  gravity  insisted  that  it  be  contin- 
ued from  that  point ! 

On  a  bright  sunny  morning  we  sought 
out  the  judge's  office,  only  to  learn  that 
he  had  not  yet  for  the  day  exchanged  the 
pleasures  of  rural  life  across  the  Fontaine 
for  less  romantic  devotions  at  the  shrine 
of  the  stern  goddess.  Later  we  were  in- 
formed, upon  what  seemed  credible  au- 
thority, that  upon  the  morning  in  ques- 
tion he  was  intending  to  sow  oats.  Though 
cold  March  still  claimed  the  calendar,  and 
hence  such  action  on  the  part  of  the  judge 
might  seem  like  forcing  the  season,  yet  re- 
flections upon  his  advanced  years  caused 
us  to  suppress  the  rising  thought  that  per- 
haps some  allusions  to  wild  oats  might 
have  been  intended.  Hence  we  looked 


AN  HISTORICAL   ROCKY-MOUNTAIN  OUTPOST. 


149 


forward  to  a  rare  treat — judicial  dignity 
unbending  itself  in  pastoral  pursuits,  as 
in  the  case  of  some  Roman  magistrate. 
"A  little  better'n  a  mile  "  was  the  answer 
to  our  interrogatory  as  to  how  far  the 
judge's  ranch  might  be  from  town  ;  but 
having  upon  many  former  occasions  ta- 
ken the  dimensions  of  a  Colorado  mile, 
we  declined  the  suggestion  to  walk  and 
sought  some  mode  of  conveyance.  There 
chanced  to  be  one  right  at  hand,  stand- 
ing patiently  by  the  wayside  and  presided 
over  by  an  ancient  colored  gentleman. 
The  coach  had  been  a  fine  one  in  its 
day,  but  that  was  long  since  past,  and 
now  its  dashboard,  bent  out  at  an  angle 
of  forty-five  degrees,  the  faded  trimmings 
and  the  rusty,  stately  occupant  of  the  box 
formed  a  complete  and  harmonious  pic- 
ture of  past  grandeur  seldom  seen  in  the 
Far  West.  Two  dubious-looking  bron- 
chos, a  bay  and  a  white,  completed  this 
unique  equipage,  in  which  we  climbed 
the  mesa  and  then  descended  into  the 
valley  of  the  Fontaine.  The  sable  driver 
was  disposed  to  be  communicative,  and 
ventured  various  opinions  upon  current 
topics.  He  had  been  through  the  war, 
and  came  West  fourteen  years  ago. 

"You  have  had  quite  an  adventurous 
life,"  we  remarked. 

"Why,  sah,"  he  returned,  "if  the  his- 
tory ob  my  life  was  wrote  up  it  would  be 
wuth  ten  thousand  dollars." 

While  regarding  the  valuation  as  some- 
what high,  we  yet  regretted  our  inability  to 
profit  by  this  unexpected  though  prom- 
ising business-opportunity,  and  soon  our 
attention  was  diverted  by  a  glimpse  of 
the  judge's  adobe,  and  that  person  him- 
self standing  by  his  carriage  and  await- 
ing our  by  no  means  rapid  approach.  He 
was  about  to  go  to  town,  and  the  oats 
were  being  sown  by  an  individual  of  the 
same  nationality  as  our  driver,  to  whom 
the  latter  addressed  such  encouraging 
remarks  as  "Git  right  'long  dere  now 
and  sow  dat  oats.  Don't  stand  roostin' 
on  de  fence  all  day,  like  as  you  had  the 
consumshing.  You  look  powerful  weak. 
Guess  mebbe  I'd  better  come  over  dere 
and  show  you  how." 

Judge  Bradford's  career  has  been  a 
chequeied  one,  and  it  has  fallen  to  his  lot 


to  dispense  justice  in  places  and  under 
circumstances  as  various  as  could  well 
be  imagined.  Born  in  Maine  in  1815, 
he  has  lived  successively  in  Missouri, 
Iowa,  Nebraska  and  Colorado,  and  held 
almost  every  position  open  to  the  pro- 
fession of  the  law.  From  the  supreme 


THE  JUDGF. 

bench  of  Colorado  he  was  twice  called 
to  represent  the  Territory  as  delegate  to 
Congress.  In  1852,  when  he  was  judge 
of  the  Sixth  Judicial  District  of  Iowa,  his 
eccentricities  of  character  seem  to  have 
reached  their  full  development.  He  ex- 
hibited that  supreme  disregard  for  dress 
and  the  various  social  amenities  which 
not  infrequently  betray  the  superior  mind. 
Never  were  his  clothes  known  to  fit,  be- 
ing invariably  too  large  or  too  small,  too 
short  or  too  long.  As  to  his  hair,  the  ex- 
ternal evidences  were  of  a  character  to 
disprove  the  rumor  that  he  had  a  brush 
and  comb,  while  the  stubby  beard  fre- 
quently remained  undisturbed  upon  the 
judicial  chin  for  several  weeks  at  a  time. 
The  atrocious  story  is  even  told  that 
once  upon  a  time,  when  half  shaven,  he 
chanced  to  pick  up  a  newspaper,  became 


150 


AN  HISTORICAL    ROCKY-MOUNTAIN  OUTPOST. 


absorbed  in  its  contents,  forgot  to  com- 
plete his  task,  and  went  to  court  in  this 
most  absurdly  unsymmetrical  condition. 
But,  despite  these  personal  eccentricities, 
a  more  honest  or  capable  judge  has  rare- 
ly been  called  upon  to  vindicate  the  maj- 
esty of  the  law.  Upon  the  bench  none 
could  detect  a  flaw  in  his  assumption  of 
that  dignity  so  intimately  associated  in 
all  minds  with  the  judiciary,  but,  the  er- 
mine once  laid  aside  for  the  day,  he  was 
as  jolly  and  mirthful  as  any  of  his  fron- 
tier companions.  Judge  Bradford  was 
no  advocate,  but  by  the  action  of  a  phe- 
nomenal memory  his  large  head  was 
stored  so  full  of  law  as  to  emphasize,  to 
those  who  knew  him,  the  curious  dispro- 
portion between  its  size  and  that  of  his 
legs  and  feet.  These  latter  were  of  such 
peculiarly  modest  dimensions  as  to  call 
to  mind  Goldsmith's  well-known  lines, 
though  in  this  case  we  must,  of  necessity, 
picture  admiring  frontiersmen  standing 
round  while 

Still  the  wonder  grew 
That  two  small  feet  could  carry  all  he  knew. 

The  judge's  mind  is  of  the  encyclopae- 
dical type,  and  facts  and  dates  are  his 
especial  "strong  holt."  But  his  counte- 
nance fails  to  ratify  the  inward  structure 
when,  pausing  from  a  recital,  he  gazes 
upon  your  reception  of  the  knowledge 
conveyed  with  a  kindly  smile — a  most  in- 
nocent smile  that  acts  as  a  strong  disposer 
to  belief.  Whether  it  has  been  a  simple 
tale  of  the  early  days  enlivened  with  rec- 
ollections of  pitch-trump  and  other  social 
joys,  or  whether  the  performances  of  sav- 
age Indians  and  treacherous  half-breeds 
send  a  chill  through  the  listener,  it  is  all 
the  same  :  at  its  close  the  judge's  amiable 
features  wear  the  same  belief-compelling 
smile.  Under  its  influence  we  sit  for  hours 
while  our  entertainer  ranges  through  the 
stores  of  his  memory,  pulling  out  much 
that  is  dust -covered  and  ancient,  but 
quickly  renovated  for  our  use  by  his 
ready  imagination  and  occasional  wit. 
With  a  feeling  akin  to  reverence  we 
listen — a  reverence  due  to  one  who  had 
turned  his  face  toward  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains before  Colorado  had  a  name,  who 
had  made  the  perilous  journey  across  the 
great  Plains  behind  a  bull-team,  and  who 


has  since  been  associated  with  everything 
concerned  in  the  welfare  and  progress  of 
what  has  now  become  this  great  Centen- 
nial State,  toward  which  all  eyes  are  turn- 
ing. Not  without  its  dark  days  to  him  has 
passed  this  pioneer  life,  and  none  were 
more  filled  with  discouragement  than 
those  during  which  he  represented  the 
Territory  in  Congress.  He  describes  the 
position  as  one  of  peculiar  difficulty — on 
one  hand  the  clamors  of  a  people  for  aid 
and  recognition  in  their  rapid  develop- 
ment of  the  country,  while  on  the  other, 
to  meet  them,  he  found  himself  a  mere 
beggar  at  the  doors  of  Congressional 
mercy  and  grace,  voteless  and  hence 
powerless.  Truly,  in  the  light  of  his  ex- 
perience, the  office  of  Territorial  delegate 
is  no  sinecure. 

No  one  has  more  closely  observed  the 
course  of  events  in  the  Far  West  than 
Judge  Bradford,  and  his  opinions  on 
some  disputed  points  are  very  decided 
and  equally  clear.  Many  have  wonder- 
ed that  Pueblo,  which  had  the  advantage 
of  first  settlement,  had  long  been  a  ren- 
dezvous of  trappers  and  frontier  traders, 
and  lay  upon  the  only  road  to  the  then 
so-called  Pike's  Peak  mines,  that  via  the 
Arkansas  Canon — that  this  outpost,  situ- 
ated thus  at  the  very  gateway  of  the  Far 
West,  should  have  remained  compara- 
tively unimportant,  while  Denver  grew 
with  such  astonishing  rapidity.  But,  in 
the  judge's  opinion,  it  was  the  war  of  the 
rebellion  that  turned  the  scale  in  favor 
of  the  Queen  City.  The  first  emigrants 
had  come  through  Missouri  and  up  the 
Arkansas,  their  natural  route,  and  as 
naturally  conducting  to  Pueblo.  But 
when  Missouri  and  South-eastern  Kan- 
sas became  the  scenes  of  guerrilla  war- 
fare the  emigrant  who  would  safely  con- 
vey himself  and  family  across  the  prai- 
ries must  seek  a  more  northern  parallel. 
Hence,  Pueblo  received  a  check  from 
which  it  is  only  now  recovering,  and 
Denver  an  impetus  whose  ultimate  lim- 
its no  man  can  foresee. 

Many  strange  things  were  done  in  the 
olden  time.  When  the  Plains  Indians 
had  gathered  together  their  forces  for  the 
purpose  of  persistently  harassing  the  set- 
tlement, the  Mountain  Utes,  then  the  allies 


AN  HISTORICAL    ROCKY-MOUNTAIN  OUTPOST. 


15' 


of  the  whites,  offered  their  services  to 
help  repel  the  common  enemy.  Peti- 
tions went  up  to  the  governor  and  Leg- 
islature to  accept  the  proffered  services, 
but  they  were  steadily  refused.  Our 
long-headed  judge  gives  the  reason: 
The  administration  was  under  the  control 
of  men  who  were  feeding  Uncle  Sam's 
troops  with  corn  at  thirteen  cents  per 
pound,  and  other  staples  in  proportion, 
and  the  Indian  volunteers  promised  a 
too  speedy  ending  of  such  a  profitable 
warfare. 

Thus  eventually  has  passed  the  life  of 


Judge  Bradford.  During  his  threescore- 
and-five  years  he  has  moved  almost  across 
a  continent,  never  content  unless  he  was 
on  the  frontier.  Long  may  he  live  to 
ride  in  his  light  coverless  wagon  in  the 
smile  of  bright  Colorado  sunshine,  hon- 
ored by  all  who  know  him,  and  affording 
his  friends  the  enjoyment  of  his  rare  good 
presence ! 

Thirty  years  ago  this  whole  Rocky- 
Mountain  region,  now  appropriated  by 
an  enterprising  and  progressive  people, 
contained,  besides  the  native  Indians 
and  the  Mexicans  in  the  south,  only  a 


Lirii:1':11!',!:^1^^^^''1^!!:'^-;1!;;11':1!:1:''!::::!,^:!,- 

OLD  ADOBE   FORT. 


few  trappers  and  frontier  traders,  most 
of  them  in  the  employ  of  the  American 
Fur  Company.  These  were  the  fearless 
and  intrepid  pioneers  who  so  far  from 
fleeing  danger  seemed  rather  to  court 
it.  Accounts  of  their  adventures — now 
a  struggle  with  a  wounded  bear,  again 
the  threatened  perils  of  starvation  when 
lost  in  some  mountain-fastness  —  have 
long  simultaneously  terrified  and  fasci- 
nated both  young  and  old.  We  all  have 
pictured  their  dress — the  coat  or  cloak, 
often  an  odd  combination  of  several  va- 
rieties of  skins  pieced  together,  with  fur 
side  in  ;  breeches  sometimes  of  the  same 
material,  but  oftener  of  coarse  duck  or 
corduroy ;  and  the  slouched  hat,  under 


whose  broad  brim  whatever  of  the  face 
that  was  not  concealed  by  a  shaggy,  un- 
kempt beard  shone  out  red  from  exposure 
to  sun  and  weather.  The  American  Fur 
Company  had  dotted  the  country  with 
forts,  which  served  the  double  purpose 
of  storehouses  for  the  valuables  collected 
and  of  places  where  the  employes  could 
barricade  themselves  against  the  too-often 
troublesome  savages.  For  such  a  pur- 
pose, though  not  actually  by  the  Fur 
Company,  was  built  the  old  adobe  fort 
the  ruins  of  which  are  still  to  be  seen 
on  the  banks  of  the  Arkansas  at  Pueblo. 
How  old  it  may  have  been  no  one  seems 
to  know,  but  certain  it  is  that  for  long 
years,  and  in  the  earliest  times,  it  was  a 


152 


AN  HISTORICAL    ROCKY-MOUNTAIN  OUTPOST. 


favorite  rendezvous.  Here  was  always 
to  be  found  a  jolly  good  party  to  pass 
away  the  long  winter  evenings  with  song 
and  story.  Here  Kit  Carson  often  stop- 
ped to  rest  from  his  many  perilous  expe- 
ditions, enjoying,  together  with  Fremont 
and  other  noted  Rocky -Mountain  ex- 
plorers, the  hospitalities  of  the  old  fort. 
Many  times  were  its  soft  walls  indented 
by  the  arrows  of  besieging  Indians,  but 
its  bloodiest  tragedy  was  enacted  in  1854, 
when  the  Utes  surprised  the  sleeping  com- 
pany and  savagely  massacred  all. 

While  these  events  were  transpiring  at 
the  old  fort  a  party  of  Mexicans  had  jour- 
neyed from  the  south,  crossed  the  Arkan- 
sas River  and  formed  a  settlement  on  the 
east  side  of  the  Fontaine.  A  character- 
istically squalid  and  miserable  place  it 
was,  with  the  dwellings — they  scarce  de- 
served the  name  of  houses — built  in  the 
side  of  the  bluffs  very  much  as  animals 
might  burrow  in  the  ground.  Part  dug- 
out and  part  adobe  were  those  wretched 
habitations,  and  the  shed-like  parts  which 
projected  from  the  hill  were  composed  of 
all  conceivable  and  inconceivable  kinds 
of  rubbish.  Sticks,  stones,  bits  of  old 
iron,  worn-out  mattings  and  gunny-sacks 
entered  more  or  less  into  the  construction 
of  these  dens,  all  stuck  together  with  the 
inevitable  adobe  mud.  The  settlement 
extended  some  distance  along  the  side  of 
the  bluff,  and  the  sloping  plain  in  front 
was  dignified  as  the  plaza.  Perhaps  the 
dark-hued  immigrants  expected  a  large 
town  to  spring  from  these  unpromising 
beginnings,  and  their  plaza  to  take  on 
eventually  all  the  importance  which  a 
place  so  named  ever  deserves  in  the  Span- 
ish and  Mexican  mind.  But  the  Pike's 
Peak  excitement,  originating  in  1852  with 
the  finding  of  gold  by  a  party  of  Chero- 
kee Indians,  and  reaching  its  culmination 
in  1859,  brought  a  far  different  class  of 
people  to  our  Rocky-Mountain  outpost, 
and  a  civilization  was  inaugurated  which 
speedily  compelled  the  ancient  Mexican 
methods  to  go  by  the  board.  Thus,  Fon- 
taine was  soon  absorbed  by  the  rising 
town  of  Pueblo,  though  the  ancient  dug- 
outs still  picturesquely  dot  the  hillside, 
inhabited  by  much  the  same  idle  and 
vagabond  class  from  which  the  prosper- 


ous ranchman  soon  learns  to  guard  his 
hen-roost. 

The  growth  of  any  of  our  Far  Western 
towns  presents  a  curious  study.  In  these 
latter  days  it  frequently  requires  but  a  few 
months,  or  even  weeks,  to  give  some  new 
one  a  fair  start  upon  its  prosperous  way. 
Sometimes  a  mineral  vein,  sometimes  the 
temporary  "end  of  the  track  "  of  a  length- 
ening railway,  forms  the  nucleus,  and 
around  it  are  first  seen  the  tents  of  the 
advance-guard.  Before  many  weeks  have 
elapsed  some  enterprising  individual  has 
succeeded,  in  the  face  of  infinite  toil  and 
expense,  in  bringing  a  sawmill  into  camp. 
Soon  it  is  buzzing  away  on  the  neighbor- 
ing hillside,  and  the  rough  pine  boards 
and  slabs  are  growing  into  houses  of  all 
curious  sizes  and  shapes,  irregularly  lin- 
ing the  main  street.  Delightfully  free 
from  conventionality  are  matters  in  these 
new  towns.  Former  notions  of  things  go 
for  naught.  Values  are  in  a  highly-dis- 
turbed state,  and  you  will  probably  be 
charged  more  for  the  privilege  of  sleep- 
ing somewhere  on  the  floor  than  for  all 
the  refined  elegancies  of  the  Fifth  Av- 
enue. The  board-walks  along  the  street, 
where  they  exist  at  all,  plainly  typify  this 
absence  of  a  well-defined  dead  level  or 
zero-point  in  the  popular  sentiment ;  for 
the  various  sections  are  built  each  upon 
the  same  eccentric  plan  that  obtains  in 
the  corresponding  house.  The  result  is 
an  irregular  succession  of  steps  equally 
irregular,  with  enough  literal  jumping-off 
places  to  relieve  any  possible  monotony 
attending  the  promenade.  If  the  growth 
of  the  town  seems  to  continue  satisfactory, 
its  houses — at  least  those  in  or  near  its 
central  portions — begin  gradually  to  pass 
through  the  next  stage  in  their  develop- 
ment. During  this  interesting  period, 
which  might  be  called  their  chrysalid 
state,  they  are  twisted  and  turned,  some- 
times sawn  asunder,  parts  lopped  off 
here  and  applied  elsewhere,  and  all  those 
radical  changes  made  which  would  utter- 
ly destroy  anything  possessed  of  protean 
possibilities  inferior  to  those  of  the  com- 
mon Western  frame  house.  But,  as  a 
final  result  of  this  treatment  and  some 
small  additions  of  new  material,  at  last 
emerges  the  shapely  and  often  artistic 


AN  HISTORICAL    ROCKY-MOUNTAIN  OUTPOST. 


153 


cottage,  resplendent  in  paint,  and  bear- 
ing small  resemblance  to  the  slab-built 
barn  which  forms  its  framework.  If  the 
sometime  camp  becomes  a  city — if  Au- 
raria  grows  into  a  Denver  and  Fontaine 
develops  into  Pueblo — the  frame  houses 
will  sooner  or  later  share  a  common  fate, 
that  of  being  mounted  on  wheels  or  roll- 
ers for  a  journey  suburbward,  to  make 
room  for  the  substantial 
blocks  of  brick  or  stone. 
By  this  curious  process 
of  evolution  do  most  of 
our  Western  towns  rap- 
idly acquire  more  or 
less  of  a  metropolitan 
appearance. 

Pueblo,  while  not  a 
representative  Western 
town  in  these  respects, 
yet  in  its  early  days 
presented  some  curi- 
ous combinations, 
most  of  them  growing 
out  of  the  heteroge- 
neous human  mixture 
that  attempted  to  form 
a  settlement.  The  fa- 
mous Green  -  Russell 
party,  on  its  way  from 
Georgia  to  the  Pike's 
Peak  country,  had 
passed  through  Mis- 
souri and  Kansas  in 
1858,  and  there  found 
an  element  ripe  for  any 
daring  and  adventu- 
rous deeds  in  unknown 
lands.  Many  of  the 
border  desperadoes, 
then  engaged  in  that  hard  -  fought  pre- 
lude to  the  civil  war,  found  it  desirable 
and  expedient  to  leave  a  place  where 
their  violent  deeds  became  too  well 
known  ;  and  these,  together  with  others 
who  hoped  to  find  in  a  new  country  re- 
lief from  the  anarchy  which  reigned  at 
home,  fell  into  the  wake  of  the  pioneers. 
Pueblo  received  its  full  share  of  Kansas 
outlaws  about  this  time,  and,  what  with 
those  it  already  contained,  even  a  modi- 
cum of  peace  seemed  out  of  the  question. 
Here,  for  instance,  was  found  living  with 
the  Mexicans  by  the  plaza  a  quarrelsome 


fellow  named  Juan  Trujillo,  better  known 
by  the  sobriquet  of  Juan  Chiquito  or  "  Lit- 
tle John,"  which  his  diminutive  stature 
had  earned  for  him.  This  worthy  is  rep- 
resented as  a  constant  disturber  of  the 
peace,  and  he  met  the  tragic  fate  which 
his  reckless  life  had  invited.  From  be- 
ing a  trusted  friend  he  had  incurred  the 
enmitv  of  a  noted  character  named  Char- 


MEXICAN   INTERIOR. 

ley  Antobees,  than  whom,  perhaps,  no 
one  has  had  a  more  varied  frontier  ex- 
perience. Coming  to  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains in  1836  in  the  employ  of  the  Amer- 
ican Fur  Company,  he  has  since  served 
as  hunter,  trapper,  Indian-fighter,  guide 
to  several  United  States  exploring  expe- 
ditions, and  spy  in  the  Mexican  war  as 
well  as  in  the  war  of  the  rebellion.  Anto- 
bees still  lives  on  the  outskirts  of  Pueblo, 
and  his  scarred  and  bronzed  face,  framed 
by  flowing  locks  of  jet-black  hair,  is  fa- 
miliar to  all.  The  frame  that  has  endured 
so  much  is  now  bent,  and  health  is  at  last 


154 


AN  HISTORICAL   ROCKY-MOUNTAIN   OUTPOST. 


broken,  and  about  a  year  since  an  effort 
was  made  by  Judge  Bradford  and  others 
to  secure  him  a  pension.  But  twenty 
years  back  he  was  in  his  full  vigor  and 
able  to  maintain  his  own  against  all  odds. 
Whether  or  not  it  is  true  we  cannot  say, 
but  certain  it  is  that  he  is  credited  with 
causing  the  death  of  Juan  Chiquito.  An 
Indian  called  "  Chickey  "  actually  did  the 
deed,  lying  in  ambush  for  his  victim. 
Perhaps  few  were  sorry  at  the  Mexican's 
sudden  taking  off,  and  in  a  country  where 
Judge  Lynch  alone  executes  the  laws  the 
whole  transaction  was  no  doubt  regarded 
as  eminently  proper. 

Among  those  who  came  to  Pueblo  with 
the  influx  of  1858  were  two  brothers  from 
Ohio,  Josiah  and  Stephen  Smith.  Stal- 
wart young  men  were  these,  of  a  differ- 
ent type  from  the  Kansans  and  Missou- 
rians,  yet  not  of  the  sort  to  be  imposed 
upon.  They  were  crack  rifle-shots,  and 
even  then  held  decided  opinions  on  the 
Indian  question — opinions  which  subse- 
quent experiences  have  served  to  empha- 
size, but  not  change.  And  what  with 
constant  troubles  with  the  savages,  as 
well  as  with  the  scarcely  less  intractable 
Kansans,  their  first  years  in  the  Far  West 
could  not  be  called  altogether  pleasant. 
Many  a  time  have  their  lives  been  in 
danger  from  bands  of  outlaw  immigrants, 
who,  dissatisfied  with  not  finding  gold 
lying  about  as  they  had  expected,  sought 
to  revenge  themselves  upon  the  settlers, 
whom  they  considered  in  fault  for  having 
led  the  way.  Their  personal  bravery  went 
far  toward  bringing  to  a  close  this  reign 
of  terror  and  transforming  the  lawless 
settlement  into  a  permanent  and  pros- 
perous town.  Still  in  the  prime  of  life, 
they  look  back  with  pleasure  over  their 
most  hazardous  experiences,  for  time  has 
softened  the  dangers  and  cast  over  them 
the  glow  of  romance.  And  while  none 
are  more  familiar  with  everything  con- 
cerning the  early  history  of  Pueblo,  it  is 
equally  true  that  none  are  more  ready  to 
gratify  an  appreciative  listener,  and  the 
writer  is  indebted  for  much  that  follows 
to  their  inimitable  recitals. 

About  the  first  work  of  any  note  under- 
taken in  connection  with  the  new  town 
was  the  building  of  a  bridge  across  the 


Arkansas.  This  was  accomplished  in 
1860,  when  a  charter  was  obtained  from 
Kansas  and  a  structure  of  six  spans 
thrown  across  the  river.  It  was  a  toll- 
bridge,  and  every  crossing  team  put  at 
least  one  dollar  into  the  pockets  of  its 
owners.  But  trouble  soon  overtook  the 
management.  While  one  of  the  pro- 
prietors was  in  New  Mexico,  building  a 
mill  for  Maxwell  upon  his  famous  estate, 
the  other  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  kill 
three  men,  and  was  obliged,  as  Steph 
Smith  felicitously  expressed  it,  to  "skip 
out."  Thus  the  bridge  passed  into  other 
hands,  where  it  remained  till  it  was  part- 
ly washed  away  in  1863.  The  following 
little  matter  of  history  connected  with  its 
palmy  days  will  be  best  given  in  the  nar- 
rator's own  words:  "We  had  a  black- 
smith who  misused  his  wife.  The  citizens 
took  him  down  to  the  bridge,  tied  a  rope 
around  his  body  and  threw  him  into  the 
river.  They  kept  up  their  lick  until  they 
nearly  drowned  the  poor  cuss,  then  whis- 
pered to  him  to  be  good  to  his  wife  or  his 
time  would  be  short.  He  took  the  hint, 
used  his  wife  well,  and  everything  was 
lovely.  That  was  the  first  cold-water 
cure  in  Pueblo,  and  I  ain't  sure  but  the 
last."  This  incident  serves  to  illustrate 
the  inherent  character  of  American  gal- 
lantry, for,  however  wild  or  in  most  re- 
spects uncivilized  men  may  appear  to 
become  under  the  influence  of  frontier 
life,  instances  are  rare  in  which  women 
are  not  treated  with  all  the  honor  and 
respect  due  them.  Indeed,  I  have  some- 
times thought  that  the  general  sentiment 
concerning  woman  is  more  refined  and 
reverential  among  the  bronzed  pioneers 
at  the  outposts  than  under  the  influence 
of  a  higher  civilization. 

The  Arkansas,  ever  changing  its  wind- 
ing course  after  the  manner  of  prairie- 
rivers,  has  long  since  shifted  its  bed  some 
distance  to  the  south,  leaving  only  a  por- 
tion of  the  old  bridge  to  span  what  in 
high  water  becomes  an  arm  of  the  river, 
but  which  ordinarily  serves  to  convey  the 
water  from  a  neighboring  mill.  We  lean 
upon  its  guard-rail  while  fancy  is  busy 
with  the  past.  We  picture  the  prairie- 
schooners  winding  around  the  mesas  and 
through  the  gap :  soon  they  have  come 


AN  HISTORICAL    ROCKY-MOUNTAIN  OUTPOST. 


155 


to  the  grove  by  the  river-bank ;  the  horses 
are  picketed  and  the  camp-fire  is  blazing ; 
brown  children  play  in  the  sand  while  their 
parents  lie  stretched  out  in  the  shadow  of 
the  wagons.  They  left  civilization  on  the 
banks  of  the  Missouri  more  than  a  month 
ago,  and  their  eyes  are  still  turned  toward 
those  grand  old  mountain-ranges  in  the 
west  over  which  the  declining  sun  is 


now  pouring  its  transfiguring  sheen.  The 
brightness  dazzles  the  eyes,  and  the  Mex- 
ican who  rides  by  on  a  scarce  manage- 
able broncho  with  nose  high  in  air  might 
be  old  Juan  Chiquito  bent  upon  some 
murderous  errand.  But  no :  the  rider  has 
stopped  the  animal,  and  is  soliciting  the 
peaceful  offices  of  a  blacksmith,  whose 
curious  little  shop,  bearing  the  suggestive 


OLD   BRIDGE. 


name  of  "Ute,"  is  seen  near  the  bridge. 
Here  bronchos,  mules  and  burros  are 
fitted  with  massive  shoes  by  this  frontier 
Vulcan  and  sent  rejoicing  upon  their 
winding  and  rocky  ways.  Our  sleepy 
gaze  follows  along  Santa  Fe  Avenue,  and 
the  eye  sees  little  that  is  suggestive  of  a 
modern  Western  town.  But  soon  comes 
noisily  along  a  one-horse  street-car,  which 
asserts  its  just  claims  to  popular  notice 
in  consequence  of  its  composing  a  full 
half  of  a  system  scarce  a  fortnight  old 
by  filling  the  air  with  direful  screeches  as 
each  curve  is  laboriously  described.  And 
later,  when  the  magnificent  overland  train, 
twenty-six  hours  from  Kansas  City,  steams 
proudly  up  to  the  station,  fancy  can  no 
longer  be  indulged.  The  old  has  become 
new.  The  great  Plains  have  been  bridged, 


and  the  outposts  of  but  a  decade  ago  be- 
come the  suburbs  of  to-day. 

Doubtless  Old  Si  Smith  now  and  then 
indulges  in  reveries  somewhat  similar, 
but  his  retrospections  would  be  of  a  mi- 
nute and  personal  character.  To  warm 
up  the  average  frontiersman,  however — 
and  Old  Si  is  no  exception  —  into  a  style 
at  once  luminous  and  emphatic  and  em- 
bellished with  all  the  richness  of  the  bor- 
der dialect,  it  is  only  necessary  to  suggest 
the  Indian  topic.  However  phlegmati- 
cally  he  may  reel  off  his  yarns,  glowing 
though  they  be  with  exciting  adventure, 
it  is  the  red-skins  that  cause  his  eyes  to 
flash  and  his  rhetoric  to  become  fervid 
and  impressive.  To  him  the  Indian  is 
the  embodiment  of  all  that  is  supremely 
vile,  and  hence  merits  his  unmitigated 


1 56 


AN  HISTORICAL   ROCKY-MOUNTAIN  OUTPOST. 


hatred.  Killing  Indians  is  his  most  de- 
lightful occupation,  and  the  next  in  order 
is  talking  about  it.  His  contempt  for 
government  methods  is  unbounded,  and 
the  popular  Eastern  sentiment  he  holds 
in  almost  equal  esteem.  The  Smith  bro- 
thers have  had  a  varied  experience  in 
frontier  affairs,  in  which  the  Indian  has 
played  a  prominent  part.  They  hold  the 
Western  views,  but  with  less  prejudice 
than  is  generally  found.  They  argue  the 
case  with  a  degree  of  fairness,  and  many 
of  their  opinions  and  deductions  are  nov- 
el and  equally  just.  Said  Stephen  Smith 
to  the  writer :  "  We've  got  this  thing  re- 
duced right  do\vn  to  vulgar  fractions, 
and  the  Utes  have  got  to  go.  The  min- 
eral lands  are  worth  more  to  us  than 
the  Indians  are" — this  with  a  suggestive 
shrug — "and  if  the  government  don't  re- 
move them  from  the  reserves,  why,  we'll 
have  to  do  it  ourselves.  There's  a  great 
fuss  been  made  about  the  whites  going 
on  the  Indian  reserves ;  and  what  did 
it  all  amount  to  ?  Maybe  fifty  or  sixty 
prospectors,  all  told,  have  got  over  the 
lines,  dug  a  few  holes  and  hurt  nobody. 
But  I  suppose  the  Indians  always  stay 
where  they  ought  to !  I  guess  not.  Some 
of  them  are  off  their  reserves  half  the 
time,  and  they  go  off  to  murder  and  kill. 
Do  they  ever  get  punished  for  that  ?  Not 
much,  except  when  folks  do  it  on  their 
own  account.  But  let  a  white  man  get 
found  on  the  Indian  reserves  and  there's 
a  great  howl.  I  want  a  rule  that  will 
work  both  ways,  and  I  don't  give  much 
for  a  government  that  isn't  able  to  pro- 
tect me  on  the  Indian  reserves  the  same 
as  anywhere  else.  Some  years  ago  In- 
dian troubles  were  reported  at  Washing- 
ton, and  Sherman  was  sent  out  to  inves- 
tigate. Of  course  they  heard  he  was 
coming,  and  all  were  on  their  good  be- 
havior. They  knew  where  their  blankets 
and  ponies  and  provisions  came  from. 
Consequently,  Sherman  reported  every- 
thing peaceful :  he  hadn't  seen  anybody 
killed.  That's  about  the  kind  of  infor- 
mation they  get  in  the  East  on  the  In- 
dian question. 

"  Misused  ?  Yes,  the  Indians  have 
been  misused,  badly  misused.  I  know 
that.  But  who  have  they  misused  ?  This 


whole  country  is  covered  with  ruins,  and 
they  all  go  to  show  that  it  has  been  in- 
habited by  a  highly-civilized  race  of  peo- 
ple. And  what  has  become  of  them  ?  I 
believe  the  Indians  cleaned  them  out 
long  years  ago ;  and  now  their  turn  has 
come.  I  find  it's  a  law  of  Nature  " — and 
here  the  narrator's  tone  grew  more  reve- 
rent as  if  touching  upon  a  higher  theme 
— "that  the  weak  go  to  the  wall.  It's  a 
hard  law,  but  I  don't  see  any  way  out  of 
it.  The  old  Aztecs  had  to  go  under,  and 
the  Indians  will  have  to  follow  suit." 

Whatever  humanitarians  and  archze- 
ologists  may  conclude  concerning  these 
opinions,  they  are  nevertheless  exten- 
sively held  in  the  Far  West.  The  fron- 
tiersman, who  sees  the  Indian  only  in  his 
native  savagery,  who  has  found  it  neces- 
sary to  employ  a  considerable  part  of  his 
time  in  keeping  out  of  range  of  poisoned 
arrows,  and  who  must  needs  be  always 
upon  the  alert  lest  his  family  fall  a  prey 
to  Indian  treachery,  cannot  be  expected 
to  hold  any  ultra  -  humanitarian  views 
upon  the  subject.  He  has  not  been 
brought  in  contact  with  the  several  par- 
tially-civilized tribes,  in  whose  advance- 
ment many  see  possibilities  for  the  whole 
race.  He  cannot  understand  why  the 
government  allows  the  Indians  to  roam 
over  enormous  tracts  of  land,  rich  in  min- 
erals they  will  never  extract  and  contain- 
ing agricultural  possibilities  they  will  nev- 
er seek  to  realize.  His  plan  would  be  to 
have  only  the  same  governmental  care 
exercised  over  the  red  man  as  is  now 
enjoyed  by  the  white,  and  then  look  to 
the  law  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest  to 
furnish  a  solution  of  the  problem.  The 
case  seems  so  clear  and  the  arguments 
so  potent  that  he  looks  for  some  outside 
reasons  for  their  failure,  and  very  nat- 
urally thinks  he  discovers  them  in  gov- 
ernmental quarters.  "There's  too  many 
people  living  off  this  Indian  business  for 
it  to  be  wound  up  yet  a  while."  Thus 
does  a  representative  man  at  the  outposts 
express  the  sentiment  of  no  inconsider- 
able class. 

Next  to  the  Indian  himself,  the  fron- 
tiersman holds  in  slight  esteem  the  sol- 
diers who  are  sent  for  the  protection 
of  the  border.  The  objects  of  his  su- 


AN  HISTORICAL    ROCKY-MOUNTAIN   OUTPOST. 


157 


preme  hatred  still  often 
merit  his  good  opinion 
for  their  bravery  and 
fighting  qualities,  but 
upon  raw  Eastern  re- 
cruits and  West-Point 
fledglings  he  looks 
with  mild  disdain.  Hav- 
ing learned  the  Indian 
methods  by  many  hard 
knocks,  he  doubtless 
fails  to  exercise  proper 
charity  toward  those 
whose  experiences  have 
been  less  extended; 
and  added  to  this  may 
be  a  lurking  jealousy — 
which,  however,  would 
be  stoutly  disclaimed — 
because  the  blue  uni- 
form is  gaining  honors 
and  experience  more 
easily  and  under  con- 
ditions more  favorable 
than  were  possible  with 
him  in  the  early  days. 
"They  be  about  the 
greenest  set!"  said  an 
old  Indian  -  fighter  to 
whom  this  subject  was 
broached,  "and  the 
sight  of  an  Injun  jest 
about  scares  'em  to 
death  at  first.  I  never 
saw  any  of  'em  /  was 
afraid  of  if  I  only  had 
any  sort  of  a  show. 
Why,  back  in  '59  I  un- 
dertook to  take  a  young 
man  back  to  the  States, 
and  we  started  off  in 
a  buggy  — a  buggy,  do 
you  mind.  When  we 
got  down  the  Arkansas 
a  piece  we  heard  the 
rod-skins  was  pretty 
thick,  but  we  went  right 
on,  except  keeping  more 
of  a  lookout,  you  know. 
But  along  in  the  after- 
noon we  saw  fifteen  or 
twenty  coming  for  us, 
and  we  got  ready  to 
give  'em  a  reception. 


1 58 


AN  HISTORICAL   ROCKY-MOUNTAIN  OUTPOST. 


We  had  a  hard  chase,  but  at  last  they  got 
pretty  sick  of  the  way  I  handled  my  rifle, 
and  concluded  to  let  us  alone  for  a  while. 
They  kept  watch  of  us,  though,  and  meant 
to  get  square  with  us  that  night.  Well, 
we  travelled  till  dark,  stopped  just  long 
enough  to  build  a  big  fire,  and  then  lit 
out.  When  those  Injuns  came  for  us 
that  night  we  were  some  other  place, 
and  they  lost  their  grip  on  that  little 
scalping -bee.  They  didn't  trouble  us 
any  more,  that's  sure.  And  when  we 
got  to  the  next  post  there  were  nigh  a 
hundred  teams,  six  stages  and  two  com- 
panies of  soldiers,  all  shivering  for  fear 
of  the  Injuns.  It  rather  took  the  wind 
out  of  'em  to  see  us  come  in  with  that 
buggy,  and  they  didn't  want  to  believe 
we  had  come  through.  But,  like  the 
man's  mother-in-law,  we  were  there, 
and  they  couldn't  get  out  of  it.  And,  sir, 
maybe  you  won't  believe  me,  but  those 
soldiers  offered  me  seventy -five  dollars 
to  go  back  with  them  !  That's  the  sort 
of  an  outfit  the  government  sends  to 
protect  us  !" 

We  have  had  frequent  occasion  since 
our  frontier  experiences  began  to  ponder 
the  untrammelled  opulence  of  this  West- 
ern word,  outfit.  From  the  Mississippi 
to  the  Pacific  its  expansive  possibilities 
are  momentarily  being  tested.  There 
is  nothing  that  lives,  breathes  or  grows, 
nothing  known  to  the  arts  or  investigated 
by  the  sciences — nothing,  in  short,  com- 
ing within  the  range  of  the  Western  per- 
ception— that  cannot  with  more  or  less 
appropriateness  be  termed  an  "outfit." 
A  dismal  broncho  turned  adrift  in  mid- 
winter to  browse  on  the  short  stubble  of 
the  Plains  is  an  "outfit,"  and  so  likewise 
is  the  dashing  equipage  that  includes  a 
shining  phaeton  and  richly-caparisoned 
span.  Perhaps  by  no  single  method  can 
so  comprehensive  an  idea  of  the  term  in 
question  be  obtained  in  a  short  time,  and 
the  proper  qualifying  adjectives  correctly 
determined,  as  by  simply  preparing  for  a 
camping- expedition.  The  horse-trader 
with  whom  you  have  negotiated  for  a  pair 
of  horses  or  mules  congratulates  you  upon 
the  acquisition  of  a  "boss  outfit."  When 
your  wagon  has  been  purchased  and  the 
mules  are  duly  harnessed  in  place,  you 


are  further  induced  to  believe  that  you 
have  a  "\vay-up  outfit,"  though,  obvious- 
ly, this  should  now  be  understood  to  pos- 
sess a  dual  significance  which  did  not  be- 
fore obtain,  since  the  wagon  represents  a 
component  part.  The  hardware  clerk  dis- 
plays a  tent  and  recommends  a  fly  as 
forming  a  desirable  addition  to  an  even 
otherwise  "  swell  outfit."  The  grocer 
provides  you  with  what  he  modestly 
terms  a  "first-class  outfit,"  albeit  his 
cans  of  fruits,  vegetables  and  meats  are 
for  the  delectation  of  the  inner  man. 
Frying-pans  and  dutch -ovens,  camp- 
stools  and  trout-scales,  receive  the  same 
designation.  And  now  comes  the  crown- 
ing triumph  of  this  versatile  term,  as  well 
as  a  happy  illustration  of  what  might  be 
called  its  agglutinative  and  assimilating 
powers  ;  for  when  horses  and  wagon  have 
received  their  load  of  tent  and  equipments, 
and  father,  mother  and  the  babies  have 
filled  up  every  available  space,  this  whole 
establishment,  this  omnium  gatherum  of 
outfits,  becomes  neither  more  nor  less  than 
an  "outfit." 

The  last  five  years  have  witnessed  a 
wonderful  material  progress  in  the  Far 
West.  The  mineral  wealth  discovered 
in  Colorado  and  New  Mexico  has  caused 
a  great  westward-flowing  tide  to  set  in. 
The  nation  seems  to  be  possessed  of  a 
desire  to  reclaim  the  waste  places  and 
to  explore  the  unknown.  Cities  that  were 
founded  by  "fifty-niners,"  and  after  a 
decade  seemed  to  reach  the  limits  of 
their  growth,  have  started  on  a  new  ca- 
reer. And  for  none  of  these  does  the 
outlook  seem  brighter  than  in  the  case 
of  the  city  of  Pueblo,  the  old  outpost 
whose  early  history  we  have  attempted 
to  sketch.  Its  growth  has  all  along  been 
a  gradual  one,  and  its  improvements  have 
kept  pace  with  this  healthy  advance.  Its 
public  schools,  like  those  of  all  Far  West- 
ern towns  which  the  writer  has  visited, 
are  model  institutions  and  an  honor  to 
the  commonwealth.  A  handsome  brick 
court-house,  situated  on  high  ground,  is  an 
ornament  to  the  city,  and  differs  widely 
from  that  in  which  Judge  Bradford  held 
court  eighteen  years  ago — the  first  held 
in  the  Territory,  and  that,  too,  under  mil- 
itary protection.  Pueblo's  wealth  is  large- 


AN  HISTORICAL    ROCKY-MOUNTAIN   OUTPOST. 


159 


ly  derived  from  the  stock-raising  business, 
the  surrounding  country  being  well  adapt- 
ed to  cattle  and  sheep.  The  rancheros 
ride  the  Plains  the  year  round,  and  the 
cattle  flourish  upon  the  food  which  Na- 
ture provides — in  the  summer  the  fresh 
grass,  and  in  the  winter  the  same  con- 
verted into  hay  which  has  been  cured 
upon  the  ground.  An  important  railway- 
centre  is  Pueblo,  and  iron  highways  ra- 
diate from  it  to  the  four  cardinal  points. 
These  advantages  of  location  should  pro- 
cure it  a  large  share  of  the  flood  of  pros- 
perity that  is  sweeping  over  the  State.  But 
enterprises  are  now  in  progress  which  can- 
not fail  to  add  materially  to  its  importance 
as  a  factor  in  the  development  of  the 
country.  On  the  highest  lift  of  the  mesa 
south  of  the  town,  and  in  a  most  com- 
manding position,  it  has  been  decided  to 
locate  a  blast-furnace  which  shall  have 
no  neighbor  within  a  radius  of  five  hun- 
dred miles.  With  iron  ore  of  finest  qual- 
ity easily  accessible  in  the  neighboring 
mountains,  and  coal-fields  of  unlimit- 
ed extent  likewise  within  easy  reach,  the 
production  of  iron  in  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains has  only  waited  for  the  growth  of 
a  demand.  This  the  advancement  and 
prosperity  of  the  State  have  now  well 
assured.  Many  kindred  industries  will 
spring  up  around  the  furnace,  the  Bes- 
semer steel-works  and  the  rail-mills  that 
are  now  projected ;  and  a  few  years  will 
suffice  to  transform  the  level  mesa,  upon 
which  for  untold  centuries  the  cactus  and 
the  yucca-lily  have  bloomed  undisturbed, 
into  a  thriving  manufacturing  city  whose 
pulse  shall  be  the  throb  of  steam  through 
iron  arms.  The  onlooking  mountains, 
that  have  seen  strange  sights  about  this 
old  outpost,  are  to  see  a  still  stranger — 
the  ushering-in  of  a  new  civilization  which 
now  begins  its  march  into  the  land  of  the 
Aztecs. 

Perhaps  these  thoughts  were  occupying 
our  minds,  as  we  climbed  the  bluffs  for 
a  visit  to  this  incipient  Pittsburg.  The 
equipage  did  no  credit  to  the  financial 
status  of  the  iron  company,  as  it  consist- 
ed of  a  superannuated  express  -  wagon 
drawn  by  a  dyspeptic  white  horse  which 
the  boy  who  officiated  as  driver  found 
no  difficulty  in  restraining.  Two  gen- 


tlemen in  charge  of  the  constructions, 
their  visitor  and  two  kegs  of  nails  com- 
prised this  precious  load.  The  day  was 
cloudless  and  fine,  albeit  a  Colorado 
"zephyr"  was  blowing,  and  the  party, 
with  perhaps  the  single  exception  of  the 
horse,  felt  in  fine  spirits.  The  jolly  su- 
perintendent, who  both  in  face  and  mien 


OLD  si  SMITH. 

reminded  one  of  the  typical  German  no- 
bleman, was  overflowing  with  story,  joke 
and  witty  repartee.  The  site  of  the  works 
was  reached  in  the  course  of  time.  Ex- 
cavations were  in  progress  for  the  blast- 
furnace and  accessory  buildings,  and  de- 
veloped a  strange  formation.  The  entire 
mesa  seems  built  up  of  boulders  packed 
together  with  a  sort  of  alkali  clay,  dry 
and  hard  as  stone,  and  looking,  as  our 
distingue  guide  remarked,  as  though  not 
a  drop  of  water  had  penetrated  five  feet 
from  the  surface  since  the  time  of  the 
Flood.  Two  blast-furnaces,  each  with  a 
capacity  of  five  hundred  tons,  will  be 
speedily  built,  to  be  followed  by  rail- 


i6o 


AN  HISTORICAL   ROCKY-MOUNTAIN  OUTPOST. 


mills,  a  Bessemer  steel-plant  and  all  the 
accessories  of  vast  iron-  and  steel-works. 
With  the  patronage  of  several  thousand 
miles  of  railway  already  assured,  and  its 
duplication  in  the  near  future  apparently 
beyond  doubt,  the  success  of  this  daring 
frontier  enterprise  seems  far  removed 
from  the  domain  of  conjecture. 

All  this  was  glowingly  set  forth  by  the 
courtly  superintendent,  who,  though  but 
three  months  in  the  country,  is  already 
at  heart  a  Coloradan.  That  there  are 
some  things  about  frontier  life  which  he 
likes  better  than  others  he  is  free  to  ad- 
mit. Among  the  few  matters  he  would 
have  otherwise  he  gives  the  first  place  to 
the  tough  "range"  or  "snow-fed"  beef 
upon  which  the  dwellers  in  this  favored 
land  must  needs  subsist.  "  I  heard  a 
story  once,"  said  he,  "about  a  young 
man,  a  tenderfoot,  who,  after  long  won- 
dering what  made  the  beef  so  fearfully 
tough,  at  length  arrived  at  the  solution, 
as  he  thought,  and  that  quite  by  accident. 
He  was  riding  out  with  a  friend,  an  old 
resident,  when  they  chanced  to  come 
upon  a  bunch  of  cattle.  The  young 
man's  attention  seemed  to  be  attracted, 
and  as  the  idea  began  to  dawn  upon  him 
he  faced  his  companion,  and,  pointing 
to  an  animal  which  bore  the  brand  "  B. 
C.  45,"  savagely  exclaimed, '  Look  there ! 
How  can  you  expect  those  antediluvians 
to  be  anything  but  tough  ?  Why  don't 
you  kill  your  cattle  before  they  get  two 
or  three  times  as  old  as  Methuselah  ?'  " 

We  took  a  long  ride  that  afternoon 
under  a  peerless  sky,  with  blue  moun- 
tain-ranges on  one  hand,  whose  ridges, 
covered  with  snow,  seemed  like  folds  of 
satin,  and  on  the  other  the  great  billowy 
Plains,  bare  and  brown  and  smooth  as 
a  carpet.  The  white  horse,  relieved  of 
the  kegs  of  nails,  really  performed  prod- 
igies of  travel,  all  the  more  appreciated 
because  unexpf  cted.  A  stone-quarry  for 
which  we  were  searching  was  not  found, 
but  a  teamster  was,  who,  while  every- 
thing solemnly  stood  still  and  waited,  and 
amid  the  agonies  of  an  indescribable  stut- 
ter, finally  managed  to  enlighten  us  some- 
what as  to  its  whereabouts.  These  ad- 
ventures served  to  put  us  in  excellent 
humor,  so  that  when  the  road  was  found 


barricaded  by  a  barbed  wire  fence,  it  only 
served  to  give  one  of  the  party  an  oppor- 
tunity to  air  his  views  upon  the  subject — 
Jo  argue,  in  fact,  that  the  barbed  wire 
fence  had  been  an  important  factor  in 
building  up  the  agricultural  greatness  of 
the  West.  "For  what  inducements,"  he 
exclaims,  "  does  the  top  rail  of  such  a 
fence  offer  to  the  contemplative  farmer  ? 
None,  sir !  His  traditional  laziness  has 
been  broken  up,  and  great  material  pros- 
perity is  the  result." 

Whatever  causes  have  operated  to  pro- 
duce the  effect,  certain  it  is  that  the  West 
is  eminently  prosperous  to-day.  Every- 
where are  seen  growth,  enterprise  and  an 
aggressiveness  that  stops  at  no  obstacles. 
Immigration  is  pouring  into  Colorado 
alone  at  the  rate  of  several  thousands 
per  week.  The  government  lands  are 
being  rapidly  taken  up,  and  the  stable 
industries  of  stock-raising  and  farming 
correspondingly  extended.  Manufac- 
turing, too,  is  acquiring  a  foothold,  and 
many  of  the  necessaries  of  life,  which 
now  must  be  obtained  in  the  East,  will 
soon  be  produced  at  home.  The  moun- 
tains are  revealing  untold  treasures  of 
silver  and  gold,  and  the  possibilities  which 
may  lie  hid  in  the  yet  unexplored  regions 
act  as  a  stimulus  to  crowds  of  hopeful 
prospectors.  But  while  Colorado  is  re- 
ceiving her  full  share  of  the  influx,  a  tide 
seems  to  be  setting  in  toward  the  old  em- 
pire of  the  Aztecs,  and  flowing  through 
the  natural  gateway,  our  old  Rocky-Moun- 
tain outpost.  It  is  beginning  to  be  found 
out  that  the  legends  of  fabulous  wealth 
which  have  come  down  to  us  from  the 
olden  time  have  much  of  truth  in  them, 
and  mines  that  were  worked  successive- 
ly by  Franciscan  monks,  Pueblo  Indians, 
Jesuit  priests  and  Mexicans,  and  had  suf- 
fered filling  up  and  obliteration  with  every 
change  of  proprietorship,  are  now  being 
reopened ;  and  that,  too,  under  a  new  dis- 
pensation which  will  ensure  .prosperity 
to  the  enterprise.  Spaniard  and  priest 
have  long  since  abandoned  their  claim 
to  the  rich  possessions,  and  their  doubt- 
ful sway,  ever  upon  the  verge  of  revolu- 
tion and  offering  no  incentive  to  enter- 
prise, has  given  place  to  one  of  a  differ- 
ent character.  Under  the  protection  of 


AN  HISTORICAL    ROCKY-MOUNTAIN  OUTPOST. 


161 


beneficent  and  fostering  laws  this  oldest 
portion  of  our  Union  may  now  be  expect- 
ed to  reveal  its  wealth  of  resources  to  en- 
ergy and  intelligent  labor.  And  it  may 
confidently  be  predicted  that  American 
enterprise  will  not  halt  till  it  has  built  up 
the  waste  places  of  our  land,  and  in  this 
case  literally  made  the  desert  to  blossom 
as  the  rose.  Thus  gloriously  does  our 
new  civilization  reclaim  the  errors  of  the 
past,  building  upon  ancient  ruins  the  en- 
lightened institutions  of  to-day,  and  graft- 
ing fresh  vigor  upon  effete  races  and  na- 


tionalities. And  now,  at  last,  the  Span- 
ish Peaks,  those  mighty  ancient  sentinels 
whose  twin  spires,  like  eyes,  have  watch- 
ed the  slow  rise  and  fall  of  stalely  but 
tottering  dynasties  in  the  long  ago,  are 
to  look  out  upon  a  different  scene — a 
new  race  come  in  the  might  of  its  free- 
dom and  with  almost  the  glory  of  a  con- 
quering host  to  redeem  a  waiting  land 
from  the  outcome  of  centuries  of  ava- 
ricious and  bigoted  misrule,  and  even 
from  the  thraldom  of  decay. 


LEADVILLE. 


LEADVILLE,  the  baby  among  Amer- 
ican cities,  enjoys  the  distinction  of 
being  the  loftiest  town  in  the  world,  be- 


ing nearly  eleven  thousand  feet  above 
the  level  of  the  sea.  This  proud  pre- 
eminence is  dearly  purchased.  Though 


it  lies  nearly  on  the  thirty-ninth  parallel, 
the  climate  is  almost  arctic;  it  snows  and 
freezes  all  through  the  year ;  vegetables 
will  not  grow,  nor  can  pigs  or  chickens 
162 


live  at  such  an  elevation  ;  pneumonia 
keeps  an  army  of  doctors  busy.  When 
the  roads  are  bad,  which  is  their  normal 
condition,  the  expense  of  hauling  pro- 


LEADVILLE. 


163 


visions  from  Denver,  one  hundred  and 
twenty  miles  distant,  is  twice  as  much  as 
their  original  cost.  Only  a  few  months  ago 
flour  was  eight  dollars  per  sack,  while  the 
Denver  price  was  two  dollars  and  a  half. 
Two  railroads  are  climbing  the  moun- 
tains toward  Leadville,  and  expect  to  get 
there  some  time  next  year.  In  the  mean 
time  travellers  bound  for  the  new  Eldo- 
rado must  perform  a  considerable  jour- 
ney in  coaches  over  roads  hewn  out  of 
the  mountain-side,  full  of  boulders  and 
for  much  of  the  way  bordering  on  fright- 
ful precipices.  A  slip  of  one  of  the  horses, 
the  breaking  of  any  essential  part  of  the 
harness,  a  mistake  of  the  driver,  would 
precipitate  the  whole  coach -load  into 
eternity.  In  justice,  however,  it  must 
be  added  that  accidents  are  rare,  and  to 
those  who  love  grand  mountain-scenery 
the  ever  -  shifting  views  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains  compensate  for  some  risk. 

The  town  itself  lies  in  a  hollow  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  through  which  the 
head-waters  of  the  Arkansas  flow  over 
boulders  well  washed  by  the  gold-seek- 
ers of  1860-67.  On  the  west,  Mount  El- 
bert  and  Mount  Massive,  with  tops  cov- 
ered with  perennial  snow,  rise  nearly 
fifteen  thousand  feet  above  the  sea-lev- 
el. North,  east  and  south  are  the  mines, 
on  a  series  of  minor  spurs  and  valleys 
known  as  California  Gulch,  Oro  Gulch, 
Carbonate  Hill,  Stray  Horse  Gulch,  Fryer 
Hill,  Iron  Hill,  Big  Evans  Gulch,  Little 
Evans,  etc.  etc. 

The  town  is  barely  two  years  old,  but, 
as  one  of  its  newspapers  exultingly  re- 
marks, it  can  already  boast  of  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty  saloons,  one  hundred 
and  ten  beer-gardens,  one  hundred  and 
eighteen  gambling-houses  and  thirty-five 
places  of  still  worse  repute.  It  is  a  strag- 
gling place,  nearly  two  miles  long  by 
about  half  a  mile  wide,  with  a  couple 
of  good  streets  —  Chestnut  street  and 
Harrison  Avenue.  With  two  or  three 
exceptions,  all  the'  houses  are  of  wood, 
either  logs  or  boards,  without  founda- 
tions. The  Bank  of  Leadville  occupies 
a  respectable  brick  building,  and  the 
First  National  Bank  is  putting  up  a  sub- 
stantial stone  edifice.  A  few  months  ago, 
when  the  Leadville  fever  was  at  its  height 


and  people  came  pouring  in  here  in  num- 
bers far  beyond  the  town's  capacity  to  ac- 
commodate them,  lots  rose  to  fabulous 
prices  and  rents  were  preposterous.  Two 
or  three  small  frame  buildings  on  the  cor- 
ner of  Harrison  Avenue,  which  cost  about 
six  thousand  dollars,  rented  for  nineteen 
thousand  a  year,  and  lots  which  cost  one 
hundred  dollars  last  fall  sold  for  five 
thousand  dollars.  This,  of  course,  did 
not  last  very  long.  Buildings  sprang  up 
as  by  magic  in  every  quarter  of  the  city, 
and  rents  fell  as  rapidly  as  they  had 
risen.  Men  were  glad  in  those  days  to 
procure  half  a  bed  with  a  stranger  in  a 
room  occupied  by  six  or  eight  tenants 
for  one  dollar  a  night.  Now,  very  fair 
board  and  lodging  can  be  had  for  sev- 
en dollars  a  week,  and  excellent  hotels 
charge  only  two  and  a  half  to  three  dol- 
lars a  day.  Much,  however,  remains  to 
be  done  to  finish  the  town.  There  is  no 
drainage,  and  everybody  throws  his  gar- 
bage out  of  window.  There  are  no  pigs, 
and  it  is  expensive  to  cart  swill  into  the 
Arkansas  Valley.  Imagine  the  smell 
when  the  sun  shines  of  an  afternoon ! 
An  enterprising  company  undertook  to 
build  waterworks.  Owing  to  the  sever- 
ity of  the  winter  climate,  it  was  neces- 
sary to  lay  the  mains  six  feet  below  the 
surface.  But  it  never  seems  to  have 
occurred  to  the  projectors  that  as  the 
houses  are  built  on  piles,  without  foun- 
dations, it  would  be  impossible  to  car- 
ry the  water  into  them  from  the  mains 
in  the  winter  season ;  so  this  modern 
improvement  will  not  probably  prove 
profitable. 

Chestnut  street  is  the  main  thorough- 
fare. Here  from  early  morning  till  mid- 
night crowds  of  rough-looking  men  pace 
the  sidewalks  or  encumber  the  pavement 
round  the  doors  of  drinking-saloons  and 
gambling-houses.  Miners  work  in  eight- 
or  ten-hour  shifts,  and  get  three  dollars 
a  shift.  They  can  live  in  their  cabins  or 
boarding-houses  for  five  or  six  dollars  a 
week.  So  they  have  plenty  of  money  to 
spend  when  they  go  down  town,  and  as 
a  rule  they  do  spend  it  right  royally.  In 
some  of  the  gambling -places  there  are 
as  many  as  eight  or  ten  tables,  which  as 
night  approaches  are  often  all  surround- 


1 64 


LEADVILLE. 


ed  by  a  crowd  of  gamblers  and  miners 
betting  all  manner  of  sums  from  twenty- 
five  cents  to  twenty-five  dollars,  and  suf- 
fering nothing  to  interfere  with  their  oc- 
cupation except  an  occasional  order  for 
drinks  from  the  bar  opposite.  The  deal- 
ers are  generally  old  hands,  who  pursued 
their  vocation  in  Nevada  and  in  the  Black 
Hills,  and  who  followed  the  crowd  to 
Leadville  when  the  carbonate  discover- 
ies were  first  announced.  Some  of  them 
are  quite  prosperous  and  own  consider- 
able interests  in  the  mines.  All  are  well 
known  to  the  police,  who  never  interfere 
with  them.  They  are  a  very  different 
class  from  the  bunko-  or  lottery -men, 
who  pursue  their  calling  in  well-furnish- 
ed offices  up  stairs  or  secret  dens  in  back 
streets,  and  are  prepared  to  take  a  man's 
money  either  by  a  quiet  little  game  of 
cards  or  a  mock  lottery,  or,  if  neither 
of  these  will  do,  by  a  straightforward 
process  of  "stand  and  deliver."  Ot  this 
latter  class  there  are  several  hundred  in 
Leadville,  and  the  city  authorities  for  very 
shame  have  lately  taken  some  steps  to  get 
rid  of  them. 

A  few  months  ago  there  were  dance- 
houses  in  Chestnut  street.  But  these  and 
other  cognate  institutions,  including  one 
or  two  opium-eating  houses,  have  now 
been  confined  to  the  back  streets,  where 
they  flourish  luxuriantly.  Some  of  the 
dance  -  houses  run  a  small  theatre  in 
which  the  cancan  is  danced  and  va- 
riety performances  given,  the  curtain 
rising  anywhere  round  nine  o'clock 
and  staying  up  till  four  in  the  morning. 
This  sort  of  performance  is  highly  relish- 
ed by  the  miners,  who,  when  they  go  on 
a  spree,  like  to  make  a  night  of  it.  The 
proprietor  generally  calculates  to  have 
liquor  enough  behind  his  bar  to  supply 
the  thirstiest  of  his  customers,  but  it  not 
unfrequently  happens  that  he  is  com- 
pelled at  two  in  the  morning  to  awake 
the  nearest  grocer  and  lay  in  a  couple 
more  baskets  of  champagne.  Strange 
to  say,  in  such  places  as  this  nothing 
but  good  liquor  is  drunk.  Bad  whiskey — 
"one-stamp  goods" — won't  sell  in  Lead- 
ville. Miners  are  ready  to  pay  twenty-five 
cents  a  glass,  but  they  must  have  a  good 
article.  Farther  East  the  same  class  of 


men  would  growl  at  paying  more  than 
ten  cents  for  a  drink,  but  then  they  would 
be  satisfied  with  "forty-rod."  Here  you 
may  see  men  in  clothes  all  in  tatters  and 
covered  with  mud  coolly  emptying  a  pint 
of  Dry  Verzenay  at  a  draught. 

Of  course,  in  such  a  community  vio- 
lence is  common.  Every  man  is  armed 
or  is  supposed  to  be  so.  A  late  illustrated 
paper  had  a  picture  which  was  intended 
to  be  a  caricature,  in  which  a  judge  some- 
where down  South  remarked  on  taking 
his  seat  on  the  bench,  "Gentlemen,  the 
court  perceives  a  pistol  sticking  out  of 
the  pocket  of  a  member  of  the  bar.  He 
will  please  hand  it  up  here."  Where- 
upon the  whole  bar  rose,  and  each  man 
surrendered  his  weapon.  Such  a  scene 
would  be  no  caricature,  but  plain  reality, 
at  Leadville.  The  example  is  set  in  high 
quarters.  Rightly  or  wrongly,  the  mine- 
owners  have  been  advised  by  their  coun- 
sel that  in  the  cases  of  mines  possession 
is  really  nine  points  of  the  law.  Now, 
there  is  hardly  a  valuable  mine  here  to 
which  there  are  not  two  or  three  claim- 
ants. Hence,  the  moment  rich  ore  is 
struck  the  first  thing  to  be  done  is  to 
protect  the  mine  from  seizure  by  some 
adverse  claimant.  This  is  done  by  en- 
camping a  force  of  armed  men  round 
the  shaft  with  orders  to  shoot  intruders. 
The  Iron  Mine,  which  is  valued  at  ever 
so  many  millions,  has  had  a  force  of 
thirty-odd  men  for  months  doing  noth- 
ing but  guard-duty.  They  are  command- 
ed by  old  soldiers  and  mount  guard  with 
Winchester  rifles ;  and,  if  common  rumor 
be  believed,  nothing  but  such  precautions 
as  these  would  have  kept  this  valuable 
property  in  its  present  owners'  hands. 
The  Carbonate  Mine  has  its  guard,  which 
is  armed  with  double-barrelled  shot-guns 
and  revolvers  and  patrols  the  dumps  day 
and  night.  Another  fruitful  source  of  dis 
putes  is  the  title  to  lots,  and  here  again 
appeals  to  force  are  constant.  Four  logs 
laid  crosswise  on  an  unoccupied  lot  con- 
fer a  title  to  the  property.  But  if,  in  the 
night  or  when  you  are  away,  some  stran- 
ger throws  your  four  logs  off  and  puts  four 
logs  of  his  own  on,  whose  is  the  land? 
The  lawyers  say  it  belongs  to  the  man 
who  keeps  it.  So  the  two  disputants 


LEAD  VILLE. 


165 


GUARD    ON    DUTY    AT   A    MINE. 


whip  out  their  revolvers  and  indulge  in 
a  little  target-practice,  and  the  best  shot 
goes  on  building  his  house,  while  the  un- 
dertaker pays  his  attentions  to  the  other. 

Familiarity  with  homicide  has  engen- 
dered a  public  sentiment  in  Leadville 
which  recalls  De  Quincey's  Essay  on 
"Murder  as  a  Fine  Art."  There  are 
three  men  walking  the  streets  who  have 
each,  within  the  past  three  months,  shot 
his  man  dead  in  the  town.  One  is  out 
on  ten  thousand  dollars  bail,  one  on  five 
thousand  and  one  on  three  thousand.  No 
one  seems  to  think  the  worse  of  them. 

In  justice  to  the  police  it  must  be  said 
that  they  do  not  always  use  their  revol- 
vers until  they  have  exhausted  their  lo- 
custs. By  way  of  inaugurating  the  arri- 
val of  these  last-named  weapons,  on  the 
very  day  they  came  a  good  old-fashion- 
ed Donnybrook  row  was  got  up  in  Chest- 


nut street.  The  crowd,  knowing  well  how 
rows  generally  end  in  Leadville,  began 
to  disperse  rather  rapidly,  cutting  round 
the  corners  of  streets.  But,  strange  to 
say,  there  was  not  a  shot  fired.  As  some- 
body explained  afterward,  the  boys  were 
all  in  good  -  humor  that  day,  and  only 
broke  a  few  heads  just  for  the  fun  of  the 
thing,  and  the  police  carried  off  their  pris- 
oners with  a  perfect  entente  cordials. 

Taking  all  these  characteristic  features 
together — a  semi-arctic  climate,  abomina- 
ble roads,  a  town  miserably  built  and  not 
drained  at  all,  and  a  population  which 
for  gambling,  drinking  and  violence  can 
safely  challenge  the  world — the  question 
occurs,  What  could  have  tempted  twenty 
or  twenty-five  thousand  people  to  such  a 
place  ?  The  answer  is  easy  :  Leadville 
is  the  greatest  mining-camp  not  only  in 
the  United  States,  but  in  the  world. 


i66 


LEADVILLE. 


The  geological  history  of  the  Leadville 
mines  has  yet  to  be  written.  Half  a  score 
of  scientific  men  have  published  theories 
on  the  subject,  but  they  are  nothing  but 
guesses.  It  is  known — or  at  least  it  is  sup- 
posed— that  as  far  back  as  the  Silurian 
Period  most  of  this  part  of  the  continent 
was  covered  by  the  ocean,  and  that  the 
Rocky  Mountains  —  or  whatever  moun- 
tains then  occupied  their  site — were  mere 
strings  of  islands.  As  the  earth's  surface 
cooled  a  process  of  upheaval  and  subsi- 
dence must  have  gone  on  for  millions  of 
years.  Gradual  contraction  of  the  earth's 
crust  thrust  mountains  and  plains  like  the^ 
present  .Parks  out  of  the  sea,  while  vast 
layers  of  limestone  were  deposited  by  the 
water.  Geologists  claim  that  they  can 
show  that  during  the  Cretaceous  Period 
the  ocean  again  covered  the  land,  leaving 
only  the  high  peaks  bare,  and  again  re- 
ceded ;  that  this  process  of  rise  and  fall 
was  repeated  several  times ;  but  that  at  last 
the  mountains  and  parks  were  raised  for 
good,  the  waters  flowing  off  eastwardly. 
With  the  beginning  of  the  Tertiary  Pe- 
riod came  the  age  of  fire.  The  Middle 
Park  is  supposed  to  have  been  a  seeth- 
ing sea  of  flame.  Impelled  by  irresist- 
ible subterranean  gases,  vast  quantities 
of  metals  held  in  solution  in  the  bosom 
of  the  earth  were  driven  upward,  and 
found  their  way  through  crevices  to  the 
surface,  where  they  gradually  cooled. 
Mighty  volcanoes  burst  through  the 
range,  and  out  poured  such  volumes  of 
lava  that  in  some  places  where  they  are 
exposed  they  measure  as  much  as  twen- 
ty miles  in  length  by  three  thousand  or 
four  thousand  feet  in  depth.  Once  more 
the  mountains,  pressed  from  below  and 
squeezed  by  lateral  expansion,  raised 
their  heads  to  a  higher  level,  carrying 
sea  -  shells  nearly  to  the  timber  -  line. 
Next,  and  last,  came  the  Glacial  Period, 
of  which  the  traces  are  well  marked  in 
Colorado.  Not  only  the  mountains,  but 
the  whole  State,  must  have  been  cover- 
ed with  thousands  of  feet  of  snow  and 
ice,  which,  as  the  climate  moderated, 
gradually  melted,  and  sweeping  down- 
ward to  the  ocean  cut  the  channels 
through  which  the  mountain  -  springs 
now  trickle  to  the  sea. 


Assuming  this  to  be  the  true  pre- 
Adamite  history  of  the  State,  we  must 
next  look  at  the  facts  as  present  discov- 
ery develops  them.  The  carbonate  of 
lead,  which  is  the  mineral  sought  for  at 
Leadville,  is  found,  with  very  few  excep- 
tions, in  one  position.  It  lies  on  the  lime- 
stone and  under  the  porphyry,  which  is 
in  all  probability  nothing  but  ancient 
lava.  In  some  places  the  porphyry  is 
hard,  in  some  soft,  in  some  nearly  white, 
in  some  quite  brown,  but  in  all  it  bears 
clear  evidence  of  having  been  subjected 
to  the  action  of  fire.  Below  the  porphyry 
is  found — where  it  is  found — the  carbon- 
ate of  lead,  carrying  silver,  iron  and  a 
little  copper  and  manganese.  Sometimes 
it  is  a  hard  rock,  light  or  dark  brown, 
which  requires  blasting.  Sometimes  it 
is  a  sand  carbonate,  gray  or  light  or 
dark  brown,  so  friable  that  it  can  be 
picked  with  the  fingers  and  crumbles 
as  it  is  thrown  into  the  cart.  Sometimes 
it  appears  in  lumps  of  nearly  solid  ga- 
lena, shining  with  the  lustre  of  ham- 
mered lead.  Sometimes  it  appears  in 
streaks  of  from  two  or  three  inches  to 
two  feet  in  width,  and  again  a  breast  of 
it  will  be  found  twenty,  thirty  and  forty 
feet  wide.  Sometimes  it  is  found  three 
or  four  feet  below  the  surface,  and  in  oth- 
er places  shafts  four  hundred  feet  deep 
have  failed  to  strike  it.  Generally,  it  is 
discovered  in  a  contact-vein,  which  can 
be  followed  like  a  fissure -vein,  but  in 
some  instances,  as  notably  in  the  Little 
Pittsburg,  it  is  a  mere  isolated  deposit — 
or  "pocket,"  as  it  is  called — of  greater 
or  less  size,  but  without  any  connection 
with  other  minerals,  and  incapable  of  be- 
ing followed.  In  every  case,  however, 
the  carbonate  lies  upon  the  limestone, 
and  the  porphyry  or  lava  lies  upon  the 
carbonate,  and  the  wash  upon  the  por- 
phyry. 

The  limestone  lies  at  every  possible 
angle  with  the  horizon.  The  following 
rough  diagram  shows  its  position  on 
Carbonate  and  Iron  Hill,  just  half  a 
mile  east  of  Leadville,  and  gives  in  ver- 
tical section  the  position  of  four  of  the 
principal  mines  —  the  Iron,  Shamrock, 
Carbonate  and  Pendrey — on  what  are 
now  called  the  three  mineral  steps : 


LEAD  VILLE. 


PENDRE 
SHAF 


QUARTZITE 


VERTICAL  SECTION  SHOWING   IRON   MINE,   CARBONATE,  SHAMROCK  AND   PENDREY  MINES. 


Each  of  these  mines  has  good  ore,  and 
plenty  of  it,  though  from  the  lay  of  the 
limestone  it  seems  likely  that  the  breast 
which  the  Pendrey  has  lately  struck  will 
prove  to  be  a  chance  pocket  which,  in 
rolling  down  the  steep  side  of  the  lime- 
stone, got  lodged  by  some  accident.  But 
if  the  lime-bed  be  followed  under  the 
town  of  Leadville,  there  is  no  reason  why 
the  carbonate  should  not  be  found  there, 
though  it  may  be  at  a  great  depth  as  the 
valley  deepens. 

Those  who  are  fond  of  theorizing  have 
now  fair  material  for  a  system  by  which 
to  justify  the  Leadville  carbonates.  The 
repeated  and  long-continued  invasion  of 
the  elevated  country  by  the  sea  would 
account  for  the  limestone  beds,  which  lie 
like  a  cloak  over  mountain  and  valley. 
Then  we  may  suppose  that  the  frightful 
internal  convulsions  of  the  earth  which 
preceded  the  volcanic  eruptions  would 
naturally  throw  up,  through  splits  and 
crevices,  vast  quantities  of  molten  min- 
eral. How  this  mineral  became  con- 
verted into  carbonate  may  be  explained 


by  any  one  of  half  a  dozen  hypotheses. 
In  course  of  time,  as  the  internal  throes 
became  more  violent,  volcanoes  appear- 
ed to  relieve  the  agony,  and  wide  tracts 
of  country  were  covered  with  lava.  Fi- 
nally, when  the  volcanoes  had  done  their 
work  and  relapsed  into  quiet,  the  rains 
of  heaven,  pouring  from  the  lofty  peaks 
of  the  Great  Range,  would  explain  the 
varying  mass  of  wash. 

If  this  theory  do  not  seem  satisfactory, 
there  is  no  lack  of  others.  A  very  learn- 
ed German  professor  believes  that  the 
Leadville  carbonates  were  deposited  by 
water.  He  says  there  was  at  some  pe- 
riod or  other  in  the  Rocky  Mountains  a 
vast  inland  lake  whose  waters  were  im- 
pregnated with  many  minerals,  but  espe- 
cially silver  and  lead.  This  lake  kept 
precipitating  its  mineral  contents  during 
a  series  of  ages,  until  the  age  of  earth- 
quakes and  volcanoes  threw  up  the  bot- 
tom of  the  lake  and  left  it  dry  land. 
Other  scientists,  criticising  this  scheme, 
ask  how  the  minerals  got  into  the  water. 
But  the  defenders  of  the  aqueous  theory 


i6S 


LEADVILLE. 


point  to  a  lake  in  Southern  Colorado 
which  they  aver  is  even  now  steadily 
depositing  mineral  day  by  day. 

Others  again  maintain  that  the  move- 
ment of  glaciers  during  the  Ice  Period 
scraped  all  this  body  of  mineral  into  the 
depressions  between  the  hills  from  the 
adjacent  heights.  This  hypothesis  fails 
to  account  in  any  reasonable  way  for 
the  porphyry. 

Practical  miners,  as  a  rule,  trouble  them- 
selves very  little  about  theories.  They 
know  "float "  when  they  see  it,  and  they 
know  ore  when  they  see  it,  and  that  suf- 
fices them.  In  the  Leadville  camp  they 
know  that  to  get  ore  they  must  go  through 
wash  and  porphyry  and  strike  lime.  This 
is  called  "contact."  If  a  miner  goes 


through  wash  and  porphyry  and  strikes 
lime  without  finding  mineral,  it  is  said  to 
be  a  "barren  contact."  In  this  case  the 
miner  must  follow  the  lime  wherever  it 
goes,  using  his  own  instinct  as  to  whe- 
ther he  shall  go  north,  east,  south  or 
west.  Sooner  or  later,  all  who  have 
faithfully  persevered  in  following  the 
lime  have  at  last  struck  ore,  in  great- 
er or  less  quantity  and  of  more  or  less 
value.  But  it  is  generally  weary  work, 
as  well  as  expensive.  Nothing  is  more 
eccentric  than  the  lay  of  the  lime.  It 
runs  up  hill  and  down  hill,  apparently 
by  pure  caprice.  In  places  it  seems  to 
jump  nearly  perpendicularly  in  the  air, 
then  turns  again  and  falls  to  the  old  lev- 
el. These  spots  are  called  "horses." 


When  ore  has  been  struck,  the  next 
thing  to  do  is  to  find  the  size  of  the  vein 
and  the  richness  of  the  ore.  Extra  shifts 
are  put  on,  if  the  owner  can  afford  it, 
and  work  is  prosecuted  night  and  day 
until  the  boundaries  of  the  vein  are  dis- 
covered. It  sometimes  happens  that  the 
deposit  is  so  extensive  that  miners  sink 
day  after  day  through  mineral  without 
striking  the  lime.  This  is  a  "bonanza," 
and  means  millions.  Champagne  is  in 
order  at  that  mine. 

Then  the  ore  is  taken  to  the  assayer 
to  be  tested.  He  proceeds  to  pulverize 
his  specimens  very  thoroughly  with  pes- 
tle and  mortar.  From  the  powder  he 
selects  three  samples  infinitesimal  in 
quantity,  and  weighs  them  in  the  finest 
balance.  The  weight  ascertained,  he 
mixes  with  the  samples  lead,  borax  and 
broken  glass  to  serve  as  a  flux,  and 
roasts  them  in  a  scarifier  in  a  fierce 


charcoal  assay-furnace.  Half  an  hour 
reduces  the  mixture  to  a  fiery  liquid,  in 
which  the  lead  and  silver  lie  at  the  bot- 
tom. When  the  liquid  cools  the  metal 
is  found  in  a  button,  and  the  overlying 
slag  is  broken  off.  The  button  is  then 
cupelled,  and  the  lead  either  driven  off 
in  fumes  or  absorbed  by  the  bonedust 
of  which  the  cupel  is  made.  At  the  bot- 
tom of  the  cupel  the  silver  lies,  a  little 
round  ball,  so  small  that  the  finest  pin- 
cers are  needed  to  seize  it.  It  is  weigh- 
ed in  a  balance  enclosed  in  a  glass  frame 
(for  a  hair  turns  the  scale,  and  the  least 
wind  would  disturb  the  operation),  and 
the  assayer  can  tell  in  an  instant  wheth- 
er the  ore  contains  forty  ounces  to  the 
ton  or  one  hundred  or  five  hundred  or 
a  thousand.  No  culprit  standing  at  the 
bar  of  justice  to  await  the  verdict  of  the 
jury  experiences  fiercer  emotions  than 
does  the  mine-owner  waiting  in  silence 


LEADVILLE. 


169 


till  the  assayer  has  weighed  his  little  pin's 
head  of  silver  and  pronounced  whether 
the  mine  is  merely  fair,  or  good,  or  a 
bonanza. 

If  the  foreman  reports  a  good  body  of 
ore,  and  the  assayer  announces  that  it 
contains  a  sufficient  quantity  of  silver  to 
justify  working,  it  is  then  in  order  to  de- 
velop the  mine.  This  requires  capital. 
Even  by  employing  three  shifts  of  two 
men  each  in  one  hole  very  little  ore  can 
be  got  out,  especially  if  the  ore  be  so 
hard  as  to  require  blasting.  To  make 
the  mine  pay,  drifts  must  be  -run  on  ev- 
ery side  and  a  large  force  of  men  em- 
ployed. This  involves  an  outlay  beyond 
the  means  of  most  men  in  Leadville. 
Hence,  half  the  good  mines  in  the  camp 
are  comparatively  idle  while  their  own- 
ers are  trying  to  sell  to  richer  neighbors 


or  to  Eastern  speculators.  Where  the 
owner  has  the  necessary  means  no  time 
is  lost  in  putting  on  a  force  of  miners. 
An  experienced  engineer  traces  the  vein 
wherever  it  wanders.  Some  veins  are 
like  the  roots  of  a  tree,  with  rootlets 
branching  off  in  every  direction  into 
pockets  sometimes  containing  very  rich 
stuff  indeed.  These  must  all  be  explored. 
Every  few  yards  along  the  tunnels  or  in- 
clines of  the  great  mines  the  visitor  will 
be  startled  by  the  appearance  of  a  gloomy 
cave,  half  lit  by  a  single  candle  and  con- 
nected with  the  main  work  by  a  hole 
hardly  large  enough  to  crawl  through, 
but  in  which  a  solitary  miner  is  delving 
for  tidbits  of  ore  in  a  pocket.  The  follow- 
ing diagram  will  show  the  underground 
workings  of  the  Carbonate  and  Shamrock 


£PENDREV  MINE  I    LEADVILLE  CITY 


PLAT   OF  THE  UNDERGROUND  WORKINGS   OF  THE  CARBONATE  AND  SHAMROCK   MINES. 


Where  the  mine  is  worked  by  a  per- 
pendicular shaft,  the  ore  is  brought  to 
the  surface  in  buckets :  where  it  is  work- 
ed by  a  tunnel  or  an  incline,  it  is  hauled 
over  a  tramway  in  barrows.  In  either 
case  it  passes  under  the  eye  of  a  sam- 
pler at  the  top,  who  classes  it  as  first-, 
second-,  third-  or  fourth  -  class  ore,  or 
as  refuse.  In  well-regulated  mines  .the 
first  four  are  conveyed  at  once  to  bins, 
whence  wagons  carry  it  to  the  smelter, 
while  the  refuse  is  thrown  on  the  dump. 
Many  of  the  mines  at  Leadville,  how- 
ever, are  too  poor  to  have  bins,  and 
dump  all  their  ore  'at  the  mouth  of  the 


shaft,  sampling  it  from  time  to  time.  A 
large  quantity  of  good  ore  is  thus  lost.  At 
the  smelter's  it  is  received  by  a  clerk,  who 
is  handed  at  the  same  time  a  certificate 
from  a  sampler  that  the  ore  has  been  as- 
sayed and  found  to  average  so  many 
ounces  of  silver.  This  assay  is  imme- 
diately checked  by  the  smelter's  assayer, 
and  if  they  agree,  as  they  generally  do, 
the  price  is  easily  fixed  upon,  the  money 
paid  to  the  mine  -  owner,  and  the  ore 
dumped  into  bins  in  the  smelting  es- 
tablishment. 

Then  comes  the  most  difficult  part  of 
the  business.     The  ore  contains,  besides 


LEADV1LLE. 


SILVER    WAVK. 


silver  and  lead,  a  large  quantity  of  iron 
and  stone,  and  some  copper,  antimony, 
manganese  and  twenty  other  ingredients. 
How  to  separate  all  these  from  the  silver 
and  lead  in  a  great  smelting -furnace 
which  smelts  one  or  two  tons  an  hour 
is  the  problem.  For  a  long  time  it  was 
insoluble.  All  the  learning  of  Swansea 
and  Freiberg,  and  all  the  experience  of 
Utah,  Nevada  and  California,  seemed  to 
avail  nothing.  Loss  and  ruin  awaited 
each  successive  attempt  to  treat  the  car- 
bonates. It  was  not  till  several  smelters 
had  failed  and  many  weary  months  had 
been  spent  in  fruitless  experiment  that  it 


was  discovered  that  by  mixing  the  vari- 
ous kinds  of  carbonate  ores  in  certain 
fixed  proportions,  and  by  using  iron  and 
limestone,  also  in  very  exact  quantities, 
as  a  flux,  the  difficulty  might  be  over- 
come. As  might  be  imagined,  each  smel- 
ter has  his  own  formula,  which  is  jealous- 
ly guarded  from  public  knowledge.  Even 
the  workmen  don't  know  the  weights  of 
the  ores  which  they  mix  :  the  scale  is  set 
by  an  unseen  hand.  But  the  problem 
has  been  solved.  Into  the  furnace  from 
great  barrows  the  workmen  throw  the 
mixed  ore  and  flux,  and  with  them  in 
fixed  proportions,  varying  from  twenty 


MOUTH   OF  THE  NEW   DISCOVERY   SHAFT. 


LEADVILLE. 


to  thirty-five  per  cent.,  according  to  the 
nature  of  the  ore,  the  charcoal  which  is 
to  do  the  work  of  smelting.  The  actual 
time  consumed  in  reducing  the  ore  varies 
according  to  its  nature,  but  three  and  a 
half  to  four  hours  is  a  fair  average.  At 
the  end  of  that  time  the  entire  contents 
of  the  furnace  are  liquid  fire.  Near  the 
bottom  of  the  pile  the  slag  is  tapped  with 
a  long  iron  rod,  and  runs  out  into  iron 
vessels,  which  are  wheeled  into  the  yard 
and  their  contents  poured  out.  A  trifle 
below  the  point  where 
the  slag  is  tapped  the 
lead  runs  into  a  receiv- 
er by  the  side  of  the 
furnace,  where  it  is  dip- 
ped up  with  spoons  and 
poured  into  moulds. 
It  is  then  base  bullion. 
With  a  chisel  and  ham- 
mer a  small  button  is 
cut  out  of  each  bar  and 
re-assayed.  This  sec- 
ond assay  ought  to  cor- 
respond with  the  one 
previously  made  of  the 
raw  ore.  If  it  does  not, 
the  smelting  has  been 
defective,  and  the  slag 
has  carried  off  some 
of  the  metal,  which 
must  be  reclaimed  by 
resmelting.  If  it  does, 
the  bar  is  stamped  with 
its  number  and  shipped 
to  the  East — chiefly  to 
New  Jersey — to  be  re- 
fined. It  is  generally 
calculated  that  the  lead 
will  just  about  pay  the 
Eastern  freight,  though 
when  lead  fell  from  four  and  a  half  to 
three  and  a  quarter  cents  this  did  not  al- 
ways prove  to  be  the  case.  Of  the  per- 
fect accuracy  with  which  these  tests  and 
assays  and  reductions  are  made  some 
idea  can  be  formed  from  the  fact  that 
in  the  case  of  a  very  heavy  shipment 
of  base  bullion  a  short  time  ago  to  New 
York  the  returns  of  the  miner's  assay- 
er,  the  smelter's  assayer  and  the  East- 
ern refiner  did  not  vary  half  an  ounce. 
The  questions  are  asked  in  the  East, 


What  do  the  Leadville  mines  now  yield  ? 
How  much  silver  can  they  produce  in  a 
year  ?  To  these  questions  no  satisfactory 
answer  can  be  given,  because  of  the  fifty- 
odd  paying  mines  round  Leadville  not 
five  are  properly  developed  or  provided 
with  machinery  to  show  what  they  can 
produce.  There  are  not  five  steam-en- 
gines at  work.  Most  of  the  hoisting  is 
done  with  a  hand  windlass,  or  at  best 
with  an  old  horse  turning  a  wheel.  At 
the  present  moment  mine-owners  are  far 


HYDRAULIC   MINING    IN   CALIFORNIA   GULCH. 


more  anxious  to  sell  their  mines  to  New 
York  companies,  and  realize  a  round  sum 
for  them,  than  to  take  the  proper  means 
to  develop  their  property.  To  men  who 
have  led  lives  of  poverty,  or  at  best  of 
moderate  means,  a*  hundred  thousand 
dollars  seems  so  large  a  sum  that  they 
are  willing  to  relinquish  clear  prospects 
of  great  wealth  to  secure  it  in  hand.  Not 
many  men  resemble  Mr.  Bassick  of  Ro- 
sita,  whose  wife  a  year  ago  could  not  get 
credit  for  a  paper  of  pins,  and  who  now 


172 


LEADVILLE. 


disdainfully  declines  an  offer  of  seven- 
teen million  dollars  for  his  famous  mine. 
Such  sums  seem  fabulous.  But  if  a  mine 
can  yield  a  clear  million  a  month,  what 


PROSPECTORS   STARTING   FOR  THE   HILLS. 


is  it  worth  ?  When  Professor  Weiser  was 
asked  the  value  of  a  leading  mine  in  this 
district,  he  hesitated  and  began  to  figure 
with  a  pencil.  "If,"  said  he,  "your  ore 
holds  out — and  upon  my  word  I  don't 
see  why  it  shouldn't — you  have  so  many 
tons  of  it ;  and  if  the  quality  remains  the 
same — and  there  is  every  geological  rea- 
son for  supposing  it  will — why  your  mine 
ought  to  yield,  gross,  about  two  hundred 
and  ninety  million  dollars." 

It  must  not  be  inferred  from  this  that 
every  man  who  buys  an  interest  in  a 
mine  at  Leadville,  much  less  every  man 
who  goes  into  Wall  street  and  buys  stock 
in  a  Leadville  mine,  will  make  his  for- 
tune. He  will  be  just  as  likely  to  lose 
as  to  make  money.  It  requires  good 
management  to  make  even  good  mines 
pay,  and  good  management  is  rare.  As 


to  the  mines  which  are  stocked  in  the 
East,  it  would  almost  seem  to  be  a  case 
of  caveat  einptor.  Men  will  grow  rich, 
very  rich,  out  of  the  Leadville  mines.  But 
they  will  be  for  the  most 
part  those  who  are  on 
the  spot,  who  first  take 
care  to  secure  a  good 
mine  either  with  high- 
grade  or  with  a  large 
body  of  low-grade  ore, 
and  who  then  adminis- 
ter the  business  of  the 
mine  with  the  same 
t  h  r  i  ft  and  economy 
which  would  be  re- 
quired for  the  success- 
ful conduct  of  any 
other  business. 

Nothing  has  thus  far 
been  said  of  the  gold- 
mines of  Leadville. 
Twenty  years  ago  gold 
was  discovered  in  Cal- 
ifornia Gulch  and  the 
upper  Arkansas.  For 
six  or  seven  years  both 
these  streams  were 
successfully  washed, 
and  several  millions  of 
gold  were  taken  from 
the  dirt.  About  twelve 
years  ago  the  yield  of 
the  washings  fell  off, 
and  the  roads  became  so  bad  that  pro- 
visions rose  to  exorbitant  prices  :  flour 
was  seventy  dollars  per  hundredweight. 
This  disgusted  the'  gold  -  washers,  and 
they  emigrated  in  a  body  to  the  Pacific 
slope.  Shortly  afterward  the  remains 
of  their  labors  were  appropriated  by  a 
company  which  has  worked  the  placer 
ever  since,  and  is  said  to  be  making 
money.  It  is  now  vigorously  engaged 
in  washing  the  hill  on  one  side  of  Cal- 
ifornia Gulch,  using  for  the  purpose  a 
great  hydraulic  jet.  The  water  comes 
down  through  a  race  into  which  a 
twelve-inch  pipe  is  set.  This  pipe  cul- 
minates in  a  four -inch  nozzle,  which 
squirts  the  water  against  the  hillside 
with  force  enough  to  dislodge  the  lar- 
gest boulders,  and  drives  everything  hel- 
ter-skelter into  the  flume.  Where  the 


LEADVILLE. 


173 


jet  comes  out  of  the  nozzle  it  feels  to  the 
touch  like  a  bar  of  iron. 

It  is  estimated  that  there  are  ten  thou- 
sand men  prospecting  the  country  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Leadville,  Ten  Mile, 
Twin  Lakes,  Fairplay  and  Gunnison. 
Our  illustration  shows  the  departure  of 
a  party  of  prospectors  from  Harrison 
Avenue.  The  men  are  laden  with  tools, 
a  bucket,  rope,  etc.,  while  a  little  don- 
key— here  called  a  burro — carries  flour, 
bacon,  coffee,  sugar  and  a  small  stove 
for  the  party.  If  any  enterprising  East- 
ern youth  wants  to  understand  what 
roughing  it  means,  he  has  only  to  join 
such  a  party  as  this.  Much  of  the  pros- 
pecting is  done  above  the  timber-line, 
where  it  freezes  pretty  nearly  all  the 
time ;  and  though  biscuit  and  bacon  are 
a  wholesome  diet,  a  steady  continuance 
of  it  for  two  or  three  months  is  apt  to 


prove  monotonous.  Then,  the  chances 
are  about  nine  to  one  that  nothing  will 
be  found ;  and,  when  anything  is  found, 
it  is  more  than  probable  that  the  finders 
will  be  so  exhausted  in  means  and  grub 
that  they  will  be  unable  to  drift  or  tim- 
ber. Hardly  a  day  passes  that  some  good 
hole  with  excellent  prospects  is  not  sold 
at  Leadville  for  a  mere  song,  the  seller 
being  compelled  to  raise  money  for  his 
necessities.  A  party  of  St.  Louis  capital- 
ists a  few  months  ago  bid  ten  thousand 
dollars  for  a  group  of  mines  near  Tucson 
in  Arizona :  the  bid  was  declined.  Ow- 
ing to  a  series  of  accidents,  the  owners 
got  into  difficulties  and  were  compelled 
to  accept  four  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
for  the  same  property.  It  is  the  old  sto- 
ry, truer  now  than  even  in  poor  Palissy's 
time  —  Pauvrete  empeche  les  bons  e sprits 
de  parvenir. 


HOUSEKEEPING  IN  TEXAS. 


HE  MISSISSIPPI. 


•T^WENTY-EIGHT  years  ago  I  found 
-L  myself  afloat  on  the  Mississippi,  and 
going  to  Texas.  The  Mississippi  is  cer- 
tainly the  natural  highway  to  Texas,  for 
its  length  and  volume,  and  the  vast  re- 
gions it  traverses,  unconsciously  prepare 
the  mind  to  think  and  act  in  the  giant- 
esque  manner  befitting  a  country  where 
men  measure  their  estates  by  square  miles 
and  count  their  stock  by  thousands.  All 
the  way  from  St.  Paul's  to  New  Orleans 
this  preparation  goes  on.  After  a  day  or 
two  one  forgets  the  actual  circumference 
of  the  earth,  things  get  a  look  of  infin- 
ity, conversation  falls  into  adjectives  and 
italics :  it  seems  reasonable  to  "strive  with 
things  impossible,"  and  natural  to  expect 
whatever  is  magnificently  great  or  ex- 
travagantly wealthy.  Thus  above  Cairo 
we  saw  vast  prairies  waving  with  grain 
and  dotted  with  mounds  older  than  the 
Pyramids  of  Egypt ;  tributary  streams  sur- 
passing the  largest  rivers  of  Europe;  and 
'74 


cities  that  had  grown  like  the  creations 
of  magic.  Between  Cairo  and  the  mouth 
of  the  Red  River  were  endless  forests, 
enormous  flatboats,  rafts  and  steamers, 
and  queer  Southern  towns  where  life 
went  idly  to  a  soft  luxurious  tune.  Be- 
low this  the  great  river  rushed  away  to 
the  sea  with  the  velocity  of  a  torrent,  its 
swiftest  current  cumbered  by  grim  pro- 
cessions of  forest  trees,  their  roots  and 
branches  high  in  the  air  and  looking  in 
the  darkness  like  spectral  fleets.  Over  the 
turbid  waters  white  pelicans  gleamed,  on 
the  se^dgy  banks  cranes  stood  motionless, 
and  from  the  floating  logs  and  the  levees 
alligators  rolled  with  a  lazy  thud  into  the 
water.  Still  lower  were  the  endless  cypress- 
swamps  of  Louisiana,  and  immensely  rich 
sugar  -  plantations,  which  for  forty  years 
had  yielded  every  year  their  forty  thou- 
sand pounds  of  cane -juice  —  so  largely 
does  the  sugar-cane  draw  its  nourish- 
ment from  the  air,  and  so  marvellously 


HOUSEKEEPING  IN  TEXAS. 


fertile  is  this  alluvium  wrested  from  the 
reluctant  river. 

The  human  element  around  me  was 
equally  rich  and  strange.  There  were 
fiery  Southern  planters  with  their  half- 
barbaric  magnificence  and  generosity; 
gigantic  antediluvian  figures  in  buckskin 
that  could  only  have  come  from  the  lush 
woods  of  Tennessee  or  Kentucky;  suave 
city  gamblers ;  New  Orleans  cotton-fac- 
tors; preachers,  trappers,  Indians,  ne- 
groes—  men  of  every  shade  of  color, 
creed  and  politics.  A  few  among  the 
crowd  were  Texans,  and  it  was  easy  to 
pick  them  out — men  who  were  evidently 
not  complete  without  their  horses,  and 
who  were  used  to  long  silent  journeys. 
They  had  eyes  that  seemed  to  be  con- 
tinually on  the  lookout,  noses  like  blood- 
hounds, blood  like  mercury,  and  an  iron 
will  that  subordinated  these  peculiarities 
to  the  time  and  place.  No  one  could 
be  deceived,  however,  by  their 
apparent  phlegm  and  indiffer- 
ence. I  pointed  out  the  group  to 
a  Louisiana  cotton-planter,  and 
he  said  at  once,  "Texans." 

"What  kind  of  people  are 
they?" 

"A  good  people  to  know,  and 
a  good  people  not  to  know,  just 
as  you  take  them.  They  do  noth- 
ing by  halves :  if  it  is  cold,  with 
them  it  freezes;  if  it  is  hot,  it 
melts ;  if  it  rains,  it  pours ;  if  th^ey 
like  you,  they  like  you  altogether ; 
if  they  hate  you — well,  they  would 
just  as  soon  make  you  cold  as 
not." 

Nevertheless,  after  two  days  in 
New  Orleans  it  was  pleasant  to 
see  their  faces  again  on  the  Gal- 
veston  steamer.     Everything  was 
so  strange  and  unfamiliar  that 
any  link,  however  slight,  between 
the  old  life  and  the  new  was  wel- 
come.    Now,  also,  they  were  will- 
ing to  talk :  our  faces  being  all  set 
Texasward,  they  felt  it  safe  to  be 
friendly.    We  sat  together  in  the  mellow 
moonlight  on  the  deck  of  the  little  steam- 
er, and  they  told  us  tales  of  Mier  and 
Mexico,  of  Houston  and  Green,  of  In- 
dians and  Rangers,  of  lassoing  horses 


and  hunting  bears ;  and  so  great  is  the 
power  of  association  that  ever  since  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico  is  to  me  a  battle-ground 
and  a  hunting-field. 

At  this  time  I  saw  little  of  Galveston : 
the  day  we  touched  there  the  weather 
was  oppressively  hot,  and  there  were 
many  cases  of  yellow  fever  in  the  place. 
Therefore,  following  the  advice  of  our 
travelling  companions,  we  went  directly 
on  board  the  little  steamer  which  was  to 
take  us  up  the  Buffalo  Bayou  to  Harris- 
burg.  The  boat  did  not  sail  until  sunset, 
and  we  spent  the  whole  day  under  an  awn- 
ing watching  the  myriads  offish,  chatting 
with  the  negroes  who  came  out  to  sell  us 
pineapples  andbananas,  and  lookingwith 
a  mysterious  terror  that  was  only  too  pro- 
phetic at  the  little  white  houses  in  the 
oleander-groves  where  the  victims  of  the 
fever  lay  dying. 

We  sailed  up  the  Buffalo  Bayou  in  the 


"HURRAH   FOR  TEXAS!" 

moonlight.  The  narrow  stream  flowed 
under  a  perfect  arcade  of  magnolias,  and 
the  warm  air  was  heavy  with  their  per- 
fume. There  was  a  strangely  unreal  look 
about  the  sleepy  negroes  and  silent  pas- 


1 76 


HOUSEKEEPING  IN  TEXAS. 


sengers,  and  the  intense  silence  was  bro- 
ken only  by  the  regular  laboring  of  the 
engine,  the  call  of  the  cicadas  or  the  pas- 
sionate love-song  of  some  fiery  mocking- 
bird. It  was  all  so  unlike  the  cold,  fresh 


SAM   HOUSTON. 

air,  the  solemn  mountains  and  misty 
moorlands  of  my  native  Cumberland, 
that  I  had  to  keep  assuring  myself  it 
was  no  winged  dream  of  sleep,  but  an 
actual  experience  of  wakeful  eyes.  After 
sailing  some  little  time"  we  came  to  an 
opening  in  the  foliage,  and  the  full  moon 
shone  over  a  magnificent  plain  studded 
with  islands  of  oak  and  sycamore.  Sud- 
denly a  man  leaped  to  his  feet  and  call- 
ed out,  "  Friends  !  strangers !  There's  the 
field  of  San  Jacinto  !  Hurrah  for  Texas ! 
Hurrah  for  General  Houston  !" 

Nothing  I  had  ever  seen  was  more  re- 
markable than  the  change  in  this  man. 
During  the  whole  journey  he  had  been 
singularly  cool  and  silent :  now  he  stood 
with  his  hand  and  hat  above  his  head, 
and  his  whole  face  and  attitude  transfig- 
ured. We  gathered  eagerly  round  him, 
and  in  short,  rapid  sentences  he  told 
again  the  old,  old  story  of  crowned  tyr- 
anny strangled  by  a  handful  of  heroes. 


"See  that  clump  of  trees?"  he  cried. 
"  Six  hundred  men   of  us  stood  there, 
well  mounted  and  well  armed  with  rifles, 
double  pistols  and  bowie-knives.     Santa 
Anna  was  fortified  a  mile  away,  fifteen 
hundred  men  with  him ;  Par- 
za,  with   two   thousand   men, 
was  twenty  miles  behind  us; 
Filasola,    with    one    thousand 
men,   eight  miles   below   us ; 
Visca,    with    fifteen    hundred 
men,  twenty-five  miles  above 
us.     We  had  come  twenty-six 
miles  at  a  fast  trot,  and  just 
there,   gentlemen,    General 
Houston     stepped    before    us 
and  said,  '  Boys,  the  moment 
for    making   Texas    free   has 
come.     Is  the   enemy   ours  ?' 
Some  one  cried,  '  Every  man 
of  them,  general !'    and  then 
with    a    square,    solid    Texas 
yell  we  went  for  them.    Yes, 
sir,  we  went  for  them !" 
"Go  on,"  I  said. 
"  Well,  when  we  were  with- 
in twenty-five  steps  of  the  en- 
emy we  gave  them  the  balls 
in  our  rifles,  and  then  we  flung 
the  rifles  away.     With  a  pistol 
in  each  hand  and  our  knives 
between  our  teeth  we  went  at  a  run  for 
the  breastwork,  and  broke  with  another 
yell  into  the  camp  of  the  stupefied,  star- 
ing dons.    Then  we  gave  them  h — 1,  you 
bet." 

"Was  considerable  of  a  fight,"  said 
an  old  man  leaning  over  the  boat's  side. 
"Was  there  myself.  Quick  work.  Good 
time — very  good  !" 

"Should  think  so,"  answered  the  first 
speaker.  "Ten  minutes  decided  it,  and 
in  that  time  we  killed  or  disabled  eight 
hundred  men — that  is,  Mexicans.  Poor 
little  dons!  Can  hear  them  squeaking 
yet  their  '  Misericordia !  quartel !  por  el 
amor  de  Dios!'"  and  the  great  rough- 
looking  fellow  chuckled  queerly  to  him- 
self. 

Whereupon  I  made  deductions  I  had 
no  right  to  make,  and  rather  rebukingly 
said,  "  I  do  not  think  that  is  anything  to 
laugh  at." 
"What?" 


HOUSEKEEPING   IN   TEXAS. 


177 


"The  poor  Mexicans  asking  quarter." 

"  Poor  little  devils !  we  gave  them  quar- 
ter. Was  laughing  at  their  '  mighty  and 
glorious  president  and  general.'  " 

"Why?" 

"  Ran  away,  ma'am.  Reckon  he  was 
skeered.  Was  one  of  the  boys  myself 
that  went  to  hunt  him  up.  Found  the 
'  mighty  and  glorious '  seven  miles  away 


in  a  bog,  up  to  his  waist  in  the  mire. 
Lord  !  how  he  knelt  arid  prayed  for  his 
pitiful  dog-goned  life  !  Cowardly  scoun- 
drel, ma'am !" 

At  this  time  I  was  as  ignorant  of  Santa 
Anna's  cruelties  and  treacheries,  though 
proved  by  a  hundred  facts,  as  I  was  of 
Nena  Sahib's,  which  were  as  yet  in  the 
future.  So  I  held  my  peace,  and  listen- 


THE   FINDING  OF  THE  "MIGHTY   AND   GLORIOUS." 


ed  to  stories  of  Santa  Fe  and  Perote  un- 
til we  arrived  at  Harrisburg. 

After  a  night's  rest  we  proceeded  by 
railway  to  Richmond.  The  journey  con- 
fused all  my  previous  ideas  of  railway- 
travelling.  We  left  when  the  passen- 
gers got  ready  to  leave,  and  went  so 
leisurely  across  the  magnificent  prairie 
or  park  that  I  could  readily  believe  the 
assertion  of  an  old  planter  that "  the  train 
would  stop  at  any  time  for  the  passengers 
to  gather  grapes  or  flowers  if  a  reasonable 
number  desired  it."  Still,  it  was  comfort- 
able travelling  compared  with  our  staging 
from  Richmond  to  Austin.  The  journey, 
indeed,  lay  through  a  country  like  the 
Garden  of  Eden,  but  it  was  impossible 
to  enjoy  it.  Sometimes  the  mustangs 
had  it  all  their  own  way,  and  did  just 
12 


what  they  liked  with  the  coach,  and 
sometimes  the  driver  and  the  whiskey 
he  had  drunk  did  what  they  liked :  we 
were  entirely  at  their  mercy. 

In  an  hour  after  leaving  Richmond  we 
began  to  perceive  that  we  were  now  fair- 
ly in  a  new  country.  The  few  houses  we 
saw  were  of  the  very  rudest  description, 
all  of  them  in  the  Texas  order  of  archi- 
tecture —  two  rooms  and  a  passage  be- 
tween. They  had  no  windows  and  no 
gardens,  though  the  latter,  indeed,  seem- 
ed useless  when  the  whole  country  was  a 
noble  park  of  the  finest  greensward,  dot- 
ted with  groves  of  grand  trees  and  bril- 
liant with  a  thousand  flowers.  The  air 
too  was  singularly  clear  and  exhilara- 
ting ;  a  sense  of  boundless  freedom  and 
purity  pervaded  everything;  the  world 


178 


HOUSEKEEPING  IN  TEXAS. 


looked  as  if  it  had  just  come  fresh  from 
God's  fingers.  About  sunset  we  began 
to  approach  timber,  and  were  told  that 
we  should  soon  have  rest  and  supper. 
Presently  we  came  to  a  log  house  set  in 
a  grove  of  mulberry  trees.  Two  or  three 
men  were  loafing  under  a  rude  veranda, 
but  our  stopping  or  not  stopping  appear- 
ed to  have  no  kind  of  interest  for  them. 
They  went  on  spitting  and  talking  about 


A   BIT   OF  TEXAS    LAKE-SCENERY. 

cotton  even  after  we  had  dismounted. 
Yet  we  had  been  expected,  for  our  sup- 
per was  waiting.  It  was  the  usual  Texas 
meal — coffee,  corn  bread  and  fried  pork. 
There  was  no  milk  and  no  butter,  though 
they  owned  thousands  of  cattle  and  at 
least  half  a  dozen  female  servants.  The 
mistress  gave  the  universal  Texan  rea- 
son :  "  It  was  too  much  trouble  to  milk 
and  churn." 

There  was  no  conversation  at  the  ta- 
ble :  the  men  who  had  been  branding 
cattle  and  sowing  corn  seemed  to  have 
nothing  to  ask  those  who  had  been  to 
"Orleans"  and  "the  States,"  and  the 
travellers  volunteered  no  information. 
A  party  of  Indians  could  not  have  been 
more  silent  and  undemonstrative.  After 


supper  I  was  shown  to  a  little  room  made 
of  unplaned  and  unpainted  wood.  It  was. 
about  twelve  feet  square,  and  had  a  small 
window,  though  most  of  the  glass  was 
out.  There  was  a  bed  in  one  corner, 
and  On  the  floor  a  pallet  made  of  skins 
and  rugs  for  my  children.  They  soon  fell 
asleep.  I  was  less  happy.  The  strange- 
ness of  the  house  and  company,  the  mos- 
quitos  and  the  bedbugs,  the  cries  of  owls 
and  panthers,  and  the  very  sing- 
ing of  the  mocking-birds,  kept  me 
in  a  wakeful  state  of  excitement. 
At  dawn  I  could  bear  it  no  long- 
er :  fresh  air  and  fresh  water  be- 
came imperative.  A  negro  wo- 
man gave  me  the  latter  in  a  tin 
bowl,  and  after  bathing  my  face 
1  strolled  away  toward  the  wood. 
I  met  at  the  entrance  a  young 
Hercules,  black  as  ebony,  with 
his  axe  over  his  shoulder.  Na- 
ture had  forgot  to  make  this 
slave's  soul  bond,  for,  seeing  my 
delight,  he  took  me  a  few  rods 
away  and  showed  me  the  fairest 
picture — a  little  clearing  round  as 
a  fairy  ring,  a  tiny  sheet  of  water 
just  touched  by  the  rising  sun, 
and  standing  round  it,  motionless 
as  statues,  a  flock  of  snow-white 
herons.  I  wonder  how  he  knew 
I  should  like  it  ?  I  wonder  often 
where  the  bright,  black  sympa- 
thetic face  is  now. 

After  our  coffee,  corn  bread  and 
"fry"  we  started  again,  and  by  some  mir- 
acle arrived  safely  at  the  Colorado.  It  was 
the  first  clear  river  we  had  met  in  Tex- 
as, and  its  limpid,  bluish -green  waters, 
and  densely- wooded  banks  struck  us 
as  very  beautiful.  There  was  no  bridge, 
and  we  forded  it  about  a  mile  below  the 
city.  It  was  no  disadvantage,  the  ap- 
proach being  exceedingly  picturesque 
and  interesting.  Just  at  the  entrance 
of  the  town  a  little  white  wooden  house 
was  pointed  out  as  General  Tom  Green's 
residence.  We  had  heard  so  much  of 
this  favorite  Texas  hero  all  the  way  from 
New  Orleans  to  Austin  that  we  felt  con- 
siderable interest  in  the  insignificant 
frame  cottage.  On  its  veranda  a  very 
beautiful  girl  sat  rocking  and  reading, 


HOUSEKEEPING  IN  TEXAS. 


'79 


and  around  the  house  and  on  the  steps 
and  on  the  fence  were  about  twenty 
children,  black  and  white,  playing. 

Austin  astonished  me.  I  had  expected 
nothing  half  so  beautiful  and  so  civilized. 
The  capitol,  a  fine  building  of  soft  cream 
limestone,  stood  upon  a  hill,  and  the  town 
rose  from  the  river  to  it.  The  main  street 
was  a  broad  avenue,  its  buildings  being 
most  picturesquely  diverse  in  construc- 
tion and  material.  Some  were  rather 
respectable  houses  of  stone  or  concrete, 


others  were  mere  shells  of  pine  lumber 
or  sturdy  rooms  of  rough  logs. 

The  hotel,  a  great  wooden  shell,  stood 
in  the  centre  of  the  town.  The  whole 
ground -floor  was  occupied  by  the  bar 
and  dining-room.  I  got  plenty  of  clean 
water,  and  better  beds  than  I  expected, 
and  tried  to  be  hopeful  about  the  table. 
The  first  meal  undeceived  me.  About 
fifty  people,  legislators,  travellers  and 
boarders,  sat  down  at  one  rude  board, 
which  was  covered  with  a  queer  variety 


THE  CAPITOL  AT  AUSTIN. 


of  cloths.  A  frame  of  rough  pine  slats, 
on  which  about  twenty  towels  were  sus- 
pended, hung  above  it,  and  a  little  negro 
boy  with  a  piece  of  string  kept  these  tow- 
els in  continual  motion.  This  novel  con- 
trivance was  for  the  purpose  of  frighten- 
ing away  the  myriads  of  flies  that  hung 
over  the  food.  We  had  the  never-failing 
coffee,  corn  bread  and  fry  —  in  this  case 
both  of  pork  and  beef.  A  few  scorched 
wheaten  biscuit,  a  stew  of  dried  apples 
and  a  pitcher  of  molasses  completed 
the  fare.  We  had,  however,  milk  for  our 
coffee,  and  some  salt  butter,  brought  all 
the  way  from  New  York,  for  our  bread. 
But  every  one  seemed  quite  satisfied, 
and  as  we  only  intended  remaining  un- 


til we  could  rent  a  suitable  house  and 
put  it  in  order,  we  took  gratefully  what 
was  offered,  finding  abundant  compen- 
sation in  the  interesting  company  con- 
gregating every  evening  on  the  piazzas. 
The  choice  of  a  house  did  not  occupy 
us  long.  In  fact,  it  was  Hobson's  choice : 
there  was  but  one  decent  shelter  to  let 
in  the  place.  It  was  two  stories  high,  a 
mere  shell  of  pine  boards  overlapping 
each  other  in  the  usual  American  fash- 
ion. The  lower  floor  contained  a  sitting- 
and  dining-room,  the  walls  of  the  first 
finished  inside  with  planed  wood  cover- 
ed with  a  coarse  paper ;  but  the  dining- 
room  walls  still  exhibited  the  rough  back 
of  the  outside  shell  whitewashed.  Out 


i8o 


HOUSEKEEPING  IN   TEXAS. 


of  this  room  a  few  steps,  such  as  would 
serve  for  cellar-  or  barn  -  steps  in  the 
North,  led  to  two  sleeping -rooms  in  the 
same  unfinished  condition.  The  ceilings 
of  all  four  instead  of  being  plastered  were 
covered  with  unbleached  calico  sewn  to- 
gether and  nailed  to  the  beams.  In  the 
spaces  between  the  shingles  and  the  cal- 
ico innumerable  bats  made  their  homes, 
and  mice  from  a  hundred  little  holes 
watched  us  with  bright,  uncanny  eyes. 
There  was  no  way  of  heating  the  up- 
stair rooms,  and  the  fireplaces  down 
stairs  were  simply  large  open  brick 
chimneys  and  hearths.  The  kitchen,  as 
in  all  Southern  houses,  was  a  detached 
building;  and,  considering  the  number 
of  negroes  usually  loafing  in  it  and  the 
amount  of  "frying"  going  on,  the  cus- 
tom is  a  necessary  one. 

For  this  shell  we  agreed  to  pay  three 
hundred  dollars  a  year,  and  then  went 
promptly  to  work  to  make  it  as  home- 
like as  possible.  We  had  been  partic- 
ularly warned  against  dressing  and  fur- 
nishing above  the  average,  and  I  deter- 
mined before  buying  anything  to  return 
the  call  of  a  lady  whose  social  standing 
I  thought  I  might  safely  emulate.  Her 
husband,  like  my  own,  was  in  the  gov- 
ernment's employ,  and  her  house  was  a 
very  popular  rendezvous  of  Austin  ma- 
trons. 

I  found  it  right  on  the  sidewalk  of  the 
much -travelled  road  leading  to  the  ford 
— a  plain  log  house  of  two  rooms,  with 
a  wide  boarded  hall  between  them,  and 
a  "lean-to"  of  unpainted  planks  at  the 
back.  The  favorite  apartment  was  the 
lady's  sleeping  -  room :  here  were  gath- 
ered half  a  dozen  charming  women  dis- 
cussing the  last  evening's  session  of  the 
legislature,  the  merits  of  the  speakers,  the 
dresses  of  the  ladies  present,  their  own  par- 
ticularly good  children  and  their  aggra- 
vating servants.  A  very  plain  bedstead 
with  the  great  luxury  of  spotless  large  pil- 
lows and  a  bright  patched  quilt  of  many 
colors  filled  one  corner  of  the  room.  The 
floor  was  quite  uncovered,  but  scrubbed 
exceedingly  white,  and  the  chairs  were 
of  unpainted  wood  with  raw-hide  seats. 
But  they  were  ample,  low,  perfectly  clean, 
and  much  more  comfortable  than  many 


more  pretentious  easy-chairs.  There  was 
one  small  window  fronting  the  street,  and 
a  very  convenient  hole  in  the  plaster  be- 
tween the  logs  facing  the  river,  which  the 
ladies  used  as  a  peephole  if  there  was  a 
sound  of  company  coining  that  way.  They 
were  all  prettily  dressed  in  white  or  col- 
ored lawns,  and  had  a  certain  childlike 
frankness  and  courtesy  that  made  me  free 
at  once  of  their  good -will  and  good  of- 
fices. I  received  a  great  deal  of  informa- 
tion on  all  domestic  subjects,  from  which 
I  inferred  that  the  Texas  women  killed 
themselves  by  their  devotion  to  two  causes 
— catering  for  something  to  eat  and  get- 
ting the  work  of  one  servant  out  of  six. 

While  we  talked  the  husband  of  the 
lady  whom  I  was  visiting  came  in  from 
the  capitol.  He  was  of  English  birth, 
and  as  splendid  a  physical  specimen 
of  manhood  as  I  ever  saw.  He  walked 
calmly  in  among  the  congregated  ladies, 
removed  his  linen  coat,  washed  his  face 
and  hands,  and  then  combed  his  hair 
before  a  little  bit  of  looking-glass  hang- 
ing against  the  whitewashed  logs.  After 
a  civil  word  or  two,  which  we  appropri- 
ated in  common,  he  went  and  sat  down 
on  the  back  steps  and  called  around  him 
a  number  of  fine  hunting-dogs.  A  hand- 
some boy  and  two  little  girls  were  soon 
clambering  on  his  knee,  and  an  old 
negro  woman  began  to  cut  up  a  water- 
melon and  spread  a  table  with  cold  roast 
beef  and  pale  India  ale  in  the  lean-to 
beside  him.  The  semi-tropical  foliage  in 
front  and  the  pretty  chattering  women 
behind,  all  combined  to  make  him  the 
centre  of  a  very  idyllic  picture. 

Yet  but  a  few  months  previously  he 
had  been  the  chief  actor  in  a  domestic 
tragedy  of  a  nature  that  could  only  have 
arisen  in  just  such  a  state  of  society  as 
then  existed  in  Texas.  He  had  hired  a 
negro  woman  from  an  acquaintance,  and 
the  woman  proved  to  be  lazy  and  impu- 
dent. Instead  of  sending  her  home  or  to 
the  proper  authorities  for  correction,  he 
whipped  her  himself.  The  woman  com- 
plained to  the  son  of  her  owner — whose 
mistress  she  was — and  he,  being  a  wild, 
rough  fellow  just  home  from  California, 
said  some  things  which  my  English  ac- 
quaintance threatened  to  whip  him  for  if 


HOUSEKEEPING   IN   TEXAS. 


181 


repeated.  The  quarrel  culminated,  as  all 
Texas  quarrels  do,  in  loaded  pistols.  For 
some  time  they  cautiously  watched  for 
each  other,  but  the  Californian's  reck- 
less bravado  was  no  match  for  the  Eng- 
lishman's cool,  cautious  persistence.  Af- 
ter two  or  three  days'  dodging  the  for- 
mer grew  careless  and  impudently  brave, 
and  his  opponent  shot  him  down  as  he 
stood  boasting  in  the  street.  Popular 
sympathy  was  with  the  murderer :  he 
gave  himself  up  to  justice,  was  tried  im- 
mediately by  a  jury  of  his  towns- 
men, and  honorably  acquitted.  It 
was  certainly  a  case  of  "  I  shoot 
you  or  you  shoot  me,"  and  I  do 
not  pretend  to  say  where  the  sin 
of  society  ended  and  the  sin  of 
the  individual  began.  The  reck- 
less use  of  firearms  in  the 'street 
was,  however,  so  common  that 
most  Texans  would  have  con- 
demned themselves  in  condemn- 
ing this  man. 

It  was  clear  to  me  from  this  visit 
that  the  simplest  furniture  would 
be  the  best ;  and  indeed  I  soon 
found  that  more  carpets,  chairs 
or  tables  than  were  absolutely 
necessary  only  harbored  insects 
and  made  work  which  it  was  very 
difficult  to  get  attended  to.  Pro- 
visions were  a  more  serious  con- 
sideration. We  none  of  us  liked 
corn  bread,  and  wheaten  floui* 
was  then  brought  from  St.  Louis, 
and  cost  from  fifteen  to  twenty 
dollars  a  barrel.  There  was  a  lit- 
tle fresh  butter  to  be  bought  occasional- 
ly, but  it  was  so  dear  and  the  supply  so 
irregular  that  I  preferred  that  brought 
from  New  York,  which  cost  fifty  cents 
per  pound.  The  beef- market  was  only 
open  from  about  three  o'clock  A.  M.  un- 
til sunrise,  and  I  had  therefore  to  trust  a 
servant  with  the  selection  of  our  roasts 
and  steaks.  The  meat  was  very  sweet 
and  tender,  and  cost  three  cents  per 
pound.  I  gave  my  cook  every  day  half 
a  dollar,  and  she  bought  a  roast  and  a 
couple  of  steaks — about  fourteen  pounds 
of  beef.  Its  real  cost  was  not  more  than 
forty  cents,  but  I  soon  found  that  it  was 
considered  very  bad'  manners  to  ask  for 


"change"  from  marketing -money,  and 
I  let  the  ten  cents  go  for  daily  peace. 
Milk  was  the  dearest  commodity.  New 
York  could  not  regulate  prices  on  this 
article,  and  we  paid  the  shameful  price 
of  fifteen  cents  a  quart  — a  price  partic- 
ularly aggravating  when  there  were  thou- 
sands of  milch  cows  around,  only  "  it  was 
too  much  trouble  to  drive  them  up." 

Climate  regulates  life  in  a  very  large 
degree,  and  I  soon  fell  into  Texan  ways. 
We  had  coffee  and  steak  and  wheat  bread 


WATCHING   FOR   FIRST  SHOT. 

for  breakfast,  and  then  my  husband  stroll- 
ed up  town  to  his  office,  stopping  on  the 
way  to  smoke  and  discuss  public  affairs  at 
the  favorite  lounging- places.  The  govern- 
ment offices  did  not  open  until  ten  o'clock, 
and  they  closed  at  three — not  very  hard 
hours,  especially  when  the  number  of 
smokes  and  the  general  habit  of  taking 
things  easy  are  considered.  My  own  im- 
pression was — and  is — that  the  employes 
of  the  State  of  Texas  had  then  a  partic- 
ularly pleasant  time.  They  were,  with 
scarcely  an  exception,  of  foreign  birth : 
gentlemen  from  England,  Ireland,  Scot- 
land, Germany,  Switzerland  and  Africa 
(the  latter  the  servant)  "  ran  "  the  depart- 


182 


HOUSEKEEPING   IN  TEXAS. 


inent  in  which  I  felt  an  interest,  and  it 
was  no  more  cosmopolitan  in  character 
than  the  treasury,  tax  and  land  bureaus. 

The  ladies  arranged  their  time  in  a 
charmingly  social  and  independent  man- 
ner. Some  one  who  owned  a  carriage 
made  up  her  mind  at  whose  house  the 
day  could  be  most  pleasantly  spent.  She 
then  called  for  two  or  three  friends,  and 
all  dropped  in  together,  without  notice 
and  without  apology.  Such  visits  were 
generally  welcome  and  gave  little  trou- 
ble. Cook  was  told  to  kill  a  chicken  or 
two  and  make  some  cake,  and  the  ladies 
got  into  loose,  comfortable  toilettes,  took 
out  their  sewing  or  knitting,  and  talked 
and  laughed  away  the  long  sunny  hours. 
Children  did  not  make  any  trouble : 
black  and  white  tumbled  about  the  par- 
lors together,  and  seemed  to  have  just  as 
good  a  time  as  everybody.  The  negroes 
were  glad  of  such  invasions.  Every  visit- 
or brought  a  servant,  and  the  more  there 
were  in  the  quarters  the  merrier  they 
were:  besides,  if  there  was  extra  cook- 
ing there  were  extra  hands  to  do  it,  and 
the  little  unavoidable  recklessness  about 
sugar,  flour,  eggs,  currants,  etc.  was  look- 
ed upon  as  something  for  their  special 
advantage. 

To  do  negro  cooks  justice,  they  are 
most  excellent  in  their  specialties.  Such 
coffee,  cake,  succotash  and  fried  chicken 
I  never  tasted  before  ;  and  the  primitive 
pots  and  kettles  and  the  small  amount 
of  fire  with  which  they  achieved  results 
never  ceased  to  be  a  wonder  to  me.  The 
most  delicate  dishes  were  cooked  in  shal- 
low iron  skillets  set  upon  a  brick  hearth, 
and  having  under  them  and  on  their  lids 
a  shovelful  of  red-hot  oak  or  hickory 
coals.  By  some  marvellous  instinct  they 
regulated  the  heat,  and  it  was  very  rare- 
ly that  any  dish  was  burnt  or  underdone. 
Nay  more,  they  accepted  with  the  great- 
est reluctance  the  most  easily -managed 
stove  in  lieu  of  their  pots  and  skillets  and 
shovels.  Vegetables  were  dear  and  rare, 
except  yams,  cashaws  and  pumpkins. 
Apples,  pears  or  berries  of  any  kind  I 
never  saw  in  Central  Texas,  but  peaches, 
figs  and  delicious  melons  of  every  vari- 
ety were  abundant ;  while  the  quantity  of 
grapes  exceeded  belief.  True,  the  latter 


were  uncultivated,  but  gathered  while 
green  they  made  a  fine  preserve,  and 
from  the  ripe  fruit  I  made  for  many 
years  excellent  wine.  The  thousands 
and  tens  of  thousands  of  bushels  of 
grapes  annually  wasted  in  Texas  were 
only  paralleled  by  the  waste  of  milk 
and  the  reckless  way  in  which  hides 
and  horns  were  left  to  decay,  as  if  no 
possible  use  could  be  made  of  them. 

I  found  that  slavery  in  no  way  simpli- 
fied the  difficult  servant  -  girl  question. 
Women  with  half  a  dozen  slaves  hang- 
ing around  their  small  rude  houses  could 
still  "get  nothing  done."  Certainly,  one 
good  English,  or  even  Irish,  servant  would 
have  accomplished  with  ease  the  work 
that  "'most  killed"  four  stout  negro  wo- 
men. Besides  which,  they  regarded  it 
as  a  great  wrong  to  expect  any  thing  like 
general  usefulness  from  them.  Cook  was 
willing  to  prepare  the  food,  but  as  to  set- 
ting a  table  or  washing  the  dishes,  "dat 
was  none  ob  her  work,  and  she  warn't 
gwine  to  do  it."  Consequently,  it  was 
necessary  to  hire  a  table-girl,  who  would 
perhaps,  if  specially  arranged  with,  sweep 
the  rooms  and  answer  the  door.  But  then 
she  "warn't  no  nuss-gal,  and  warn't 
gwine  to  mind  the  chillens,  dat  was 
clar  as  sunshine."  So,  then,  you  hired 
a  nurse,  who  most  likely  took  to  your 
children  as  if  they  were  her  own,  and 
spent  the  livelong  day  in  a  holiday  tem- 
per playing  with  and  dressing  them.  Nei- 
ther nurse,  cook  nor  housemaid  would 
wash,  and  a  woman  must  be  hired  spe- 
cially as  a  laundress.  In  that  climate  a 
family  of  four  will  soil  a  great  number  of 
white  dresses,  and  the  laundress  could 
make  a  very  fair  show  of  labor,  inde- 
pendently of  that  which  she  die  not 
show  —  the  wondrously  -  stiffened  skirts 
and  shirts  belonging  to  all  her  partic- 
ular friends. 

Three  or  four  laughing,  chattering, 
quarrelling,  singing  negroes  running 
around  one  all  day  pretending  to  be 
busy  is  at  first  a  trial ;  but  one  bears  from 
good-natured  sources  a  great  deal,  and 
they  were  so  full  of  song  and  fun  that  I 
soon  learned  to  tolerate  and  even  enjoy 
them.  Even  their  squabbles  were  inter- 
esting, and  their  perfect  readiness  at  all 


HOUSEKEEPING   IN   TEXAS. 


183 


A  SOCIAL  GATHERING  IN  THE  QUARTERS. 


hours  and  under  all  circumstances  to 
dance  and  "have  a  good  time"  was  a 
revelation  to  me  of  the  possibilities  of 
human  nature  in  that  line.  They  lied 
and  stole  as  naturally  as  they  ate  and 
slept,  and  I  am  really  inclined  to  believe 
without  any  very  distinct  idea  that  they 
were  doing  wrong.  I  had  one  servant 
who  never  could  see  any  sin  in  gam- 
bling except  the  sin  of  losing :  that,  he 
was  willing  to  acknowledge, "  was  wrong," 
but  then  he  always  added  triumphantly, 
"Massa  Tom  don't  care  much."  Their 
moral  estimation  of  lying  was  of  the  same 
order.  The  lie  going  from  them  never 
troubled  their  consciences :  it  was  only 
when  it  came  back  against  them  that 
they  conceived  their  honor  to  be  in  any 
degree  injured.  An  old  negro  preacher 
who  was  caught  robbing  my  chicken- 


coop  exactly  defined  their  position  on 
the  eighth  commandment.  "  No,  Mis' 
Milly,"  he  said  with  an  air  of  injured 
innocence,  "I  neber  stealed  anyfing  in 
my  born  days.  Ef  you  take  a  fing  what 
is  gwine  into  de  stomach,  dat  ain't  no 
stealin' ;  but  ef  it's  gwine  into  de  pocket, 
den  dat  am  stealin'."  So,  as  my  chick- 
ens were  going  into  Uncle  Isaac's  stom- 
ach, he  felt  quite  sinless  in  appropriating 
them.  Looking  back  now  at  these  simple 
creatures,  with  all  their  provoking,  unrea- 
sonable ways,  and  remembering  also  their 
wealth  of  irrepressible  good -humor  and 
affection,  their  ready  sympathy  in  trouble, 
their  willingness  to  forgive  wrongs,  and 
their  unselfish  devotion  to  those  who  were 
kind  to  them,  I  find  it  very  easy  to  bal- 
ance accounts  and  leave  a  good  deal  in 
their  favor.  They  were  not  good  ser- 


1 84 


HOUSEKEEPING  IN   TEXAS. 


vants,  neither  were  they  bad  ones  — 
something,  I  suppose,  "between  a  hin- 
derance  and  a  help." 

Taking  things  in  this  kind  of  humor, 
there  was  not  a  cloud  in  my  life  for  five 
years.  In  the  spring,  when  the  woods 
and  prairies  were  like  a  vision  of  Para- 
dise, we  made  long  horseback  excur- 
sions through  forests  where  the  live-oaks 


"  TO  TAKE  WHAT'S  GWINE  INTO  DE  STOMACH 
NO  STEALIN'." 

had  been  growing  for  centuries  and  the 
turf  was  as  green  and  smooth  as  in  an 
English  park.  In  the  autumn  we  went 
again  in  great  parties  to  gather  pecans 
and  "winter  grapes"  and  to  have  a  grand 
sucking-pig  barbecue.  In  the  long,  hot 
summer  days  we  visited  en  deshabille,  ate 
melons,  and  felt  it  often  joy  enough  to 
lie  still  and  breathe  the  clear  warm  air 
and  listen  to  the  mocking-birds.  In  the 
winter  the  town  was  gay  with  dances  and 
receptions,  and  every  house  was  aglow, 
the  big  chimneys  piled  high  with  fragrant 
cedar  logs. 

Then  there  was  the  regular  excitement 
of  the  legislature.  Whatever  the  mem- 
bers might  be,  the  ladies  certainly  were 
faithful  attendants  on  its  sessions.  Ev- 


ery evening  the  lobbies  were  full  of  hand- 
some women,  and  it  was  no  small  pleas- 
ure to  me  to  sit  and  watch  such  men  as 
Sam  Houston,  Sydney  Johnson,  Tom 
Green  or  Judge  Paschal  pass  in  and 
out  among  the  pretty  groups,  stopping 
perhaps  in  the  middle  of  a  compliment 
to  contradict  some  opponent  or  hurry 
away  to  their  seat  and  make  a  speech 
full  of  passionate  eloquence  and 
invective. 

Personally,  I  saw  little  of  In- 
dians, but  that  little  was  more 
than  sufficient.  Once  I  took  sup- 
per with  a  party  of  Tonkaways  at 
the  house  of  Mr.  Richardson,  ed- 
itor of  the  Austin  Gazette ;  and  a 
very  singular  supper  it  was.  All 
of  them  refused  to  sit,  and  on  no 
account  would  they  eat  two  kinds 
of  food  together.  They  were  a 
very  ugly  crowd,  and  had  in  an 
offensive  degree  the  peculiar  smell 
of  wild  animals.  When  in  the  city 
they  generally  went  from  house  to 
house  begging,  and  on  one  of 
these  occasions  four  "braves" 
walked  into  my  room  as  I  sat 
making  a  rough  water-color 
sketch  of  a  very  singular  wild 
flower.  The  sight  of  the  paints 
roused  all  the  savage  in  them, 
and  they  "asked"  for  them  in  a 
way  which  admitted  of  no  answer 
but  one.  My  baby  lay  asleep  in 
his  cot  beside  me,  and  the  wolfish 
glances  they  threw  at  the  child  made  me 
glad  to  purchase  their  absence  with  the 
gift  of  my  whole  box  of  Newman's  col- 
ors and  a  couple  of  gold  saucers.  They 
had  the  reputation  of  cannibals,  and  the 
post  doctor  told  me  two  days  afterward 
that  they  had  eaten  the  remains  of  an 
Indian  boy  whom  he  had  been  attend- 
ing for  croup. 

The  Mexicans,  once  the  possessors  of 
the  whole  country,  had  nearly  disappear- 
ed from  around  Austin.  Indeed,  in  1853, 
and  again  in  1855,  they  were  all  ordered 
to  leave  the  city,  on  the  ground  that  they 
were  horse  -  thieves ,  horse -stealing  being 
the  unpardonable  sin  in  Texas.  They 
seemed  to  me  harmless,  polite  vaga- 
bonds, with  but  one  accomplishment, 


HOUSEKEEPING   IN   TEXAS. 


185 


that  of  throwing  a  lasso.  If  a  Texan  is 
born  with  a  rifle  in  his  hand,  then  a 
Mexican  is  born  with  a  rope  in  his.  As 


soon  as  children  can  run  alone  they  be- 
gin catching  ducks  and  chickens  with 
a  lasso.  They  do  it  with  a  remarkable 


EXERCISING  AN  ACCOMPLISHMENT. 


cleverness,  and  old  fowls  that  have  oft- 
en been  taken  in  this  way,  knowing  how 
useless  it  is  to  try  to  escape,  stoop  to  re- 
ceive the  rope  when  they  see  it  coming. 
General  Green  —  whose  Mexican  expe- 
riences were  wide  and  various  —  once 
said  to  me,  "  These  blanketed  fellows 
would  not  believe  a  thing  was  caught 
unless  it  was  caught  with  a  rope."  To 
catch  a  hog  or  a  mule  by  the  foot  when 
running  is  esteemed  by  them  a  very  high 
accomplishment ;  and  one  day  a  Mexi- 
can officer  exhibited  his  skill  in  this  way 
before  a  party  of  Texans.  "Sir,"  said 
a  man  whose  whole  wardrobe  was  not 
worth  a  dollar  —  "sir,  I  would  flog  any 
of  my  negroes  who  should  be  guilty  of 
such  unintellectual  stupidity  as  throwing 
a  rope  over  a  pig's  head." 


"  Hai  Dios !  How  then  do  you  catch 
your  horses  and  chickens?" 

"  Our  horses  we  teach  to  come  to  the 
bridle,  and  we  cut  our  chickens'  throats 
with  a  rifle-shot." 

"  Hai  Dios  !  What  a  strange  people !" 

But  the  most  singular  uses  to  which 
the  lasso  has  ever  been  put,  even  by 
Mexicans,  are  surely  those  mentioned 
by  General  Tom  Green  in  his  History 
of  the  Mier  Expedition.  In  describing 
the  battle  of  Mier  he  says  :  "  For  six 
hours  the  artillery  nearest  us  had  been 
silenced,  and  no  one  of  the  enemy  dared 
to  approach  it.  To  get  it  out  of  our  reach 
they  had  recourse  to  throwing  a  lasso 
over  it  from  behind  a  corner  and  drag- 
ging it  off;  and  in  this  they  were  more 
successful  than  they  were  in  roping  the 


1 86 


HOUSEKEEPING   IN   TEXAS. 


steamboat  Yellowstone  as  she  passed 
down  the  Brazos  in  1836." 

But  strange  and  various  as  all  these 
surrounding  elements  were,  my  first  six 
years  in  Texas  are  a  happy,  beautiful 
dream.  Then  the  careless,  lazy,  roman- 
tic life  was  rudely  broken  up,  for  with 
1860  came  a  shadow  of  dark  days  and  ru- 
mors of  fire,  insurrections  and  war.  The 
first  symptom  of  a  new  order  of  things 
was  the  general  restlessness  among  the 
negroes.  During  the  Presidential  elec- 
tion which  resulted  in  the  choice  of  Mr. 
Lincoln  there  was  so  large  a  floating 
population  of  Northern  men  in  Texas 
as  to  excite  universal  suspicion  and  re- 
mark. Mills  and  other  places  where 
large  quantities  of  food  were  stored  were 
set  on  fire  all  over  the  country,  and  it 
was  clear  to  all  observers  that  negro 
dances  were  only  a  cloak  for  negro  po- 
litical meetings.  Insurrections  and  ru- 
mors of  insurrections  made  every  one 
anxious  and  miserable ;  we  knew  not 
who  could  be  relied  on ;  and  now  and 
then  unmentionable  cruelties  and  retal- 
iations occurred  in  isolated  places  where 
some  brutal  and  impatient  slave  was  the 
leader  of  his  class.  The  safety  of  the 
country  lay  in  the  fact  that  the  Texan 
laws  were  particularly  just  and  consid- 
erate on  the  slavery  question,  and  that 
the  social  customs  permitted  the  closest 
intimacy  between  owners  and  servants. 
Black  and  white  children  grew  up  toge- 
ther, and  the  black  boy  who  had  fished 
and  played  and  hunted  with  the  white 
one  felt  the  tie  of  friendship  stronger 
than  the  bond  of  slavery.  He  was  al- 
ways anxious  in  any  plot  to  save  "  his 
young  massa,"  and  the  same  feeling 
ruled  the  old  black  women  who  had 
nursed  the  children  of  a  house  :  they 
"warn't  gwine  to  hab  ihcin  hurted."  In 
this  way  hints  were  given  and  suspicions 
roused  which  ensured  the  general  safety. 

As  the  country  was  more  and  more 
drained  of  white  men  by  the  war  the 
danger  and  anxiety  of  women  on  lone- 
ly plantations  became  very  great.  But 
they  rose  wonderfully  to  the  situation, 
and  in  a  vast  number  of  cases  farms 
were  better  cultivated  and  servants  bet- 
ter managed  than  they  had  ever  been 


before.  But  everywhere  people  began 
to  lock  doors  at  night  that  had  always 
before  stood  open  and  to  sleep  with  arms 
under  their  pillows.  That  beautiful  con- 
fidence in  each  other  which  had  made 
slavery  endurable  in  domestic  life  was 
quite  broken. 

For  the  first  year  or  two  hope  made  all 
anxieties  and  deprivations  light.  Nearly 
every  one  had  some  money,  the  Confed- 
erate arms  were  successful,  and  peace  was 
confidently  expected.  But  the  blockade 
became  closer,  one  reverse  followed  an- 
other, groceries  were  all  used  up,  light 
muslin  dresses  were  in  rags,  and  the 
commonest  necessities,  such  as  pins, 
needles,  thread  and  buttons,  beyond 
price.  In  the  second  year  people  who 
had  been  splendidly  hospitable  began  to 
economize.  Gold  was  carefully  hoarded 
and  Confederate  bills  were  looked  on 
very  suspiciously.  Indeed,  they  were 
generally  refused  for  everything  except 
country  produce,  and  even  thus  early 
their  value  was  twenty  Confederate  for 
one  gold  dollar.  In  the  summer  of  1863 
I  paid  eighty  dollars  for  four  yards  of 
domestic  to  make  a  pair  of  pillow-slips. 
I  thought  them  necessary  then :  a  year 
later  I  should  not  have  been  so  extrav- 
agant. In  the  same  year  I  could  not 
procure  flannel  for  my  baby  either  in 
Austin  or  San  Antonio,  and  an  English 
gentleman  gave  me  two  of  his  own  gar- 
ments to  cut  up  for  the  child. 

Still,  we  were  well  off  in  comparison 
with  other  Southern  cities.  We  were  so 
far  inland  as  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of 
active  operations,  and  we  never  at  any 
time  lacked  for  corn  meal,  beef,  pork, 
chickens,  eggs,  and  such  vegetables  as 
were  raised  with  little  labor.  By  some 
miracle  or  favor  I  was  never  quite  out 
of  tea  and  coffee,  though  these  luxuries 
were  brought  into  the  country  through 
Mexico  and  required  both  gold  and  in- 
terest to  reach  them.  The  great  major- 
ity of  people  used  parched  rye,  which 
was  popularly  called  "Confederate  cof- 
fee;" and  from  the  leaves  of  the  yupon 
tree  a  tea  was  made  not  at  all  unlike  fine 
young  hyson :  indeed,  my  children  drank 
it  for  a  long  time  without  ever  discover- 
ing that  it  was  native  tea. 


HOUSEKEEPING   IN   TEXAS. 


In  1864  a  large  number  of  negro  men 
were  drafted  for  the  army,  and  labor  be- 
came of  immense  value.  For  very  poor 
girls  five  hundred  dollars  (gold)  and  three 
suits  of  clothing  a  year  were  demanded, 
and  every  little  housekeeping  trifle,  such 
as  salt,  pepper,  spices,  etc.,  was  a  luxury. 
Many  poor  people  were  using  mesquite- 
thorns  as  pins,  and  I  find  at  this  time  a 
present  of  a  little  rice  and  a  paper  of 
needles  from  Bishop  Gregg  noticed  in 
my  journal  as  an  extraordinary  god- 
send. Even  the  government  could  not 
command  what  was  necessary  for  its 
business,  and  during  1864  I  spent  a 


great  deal  of  time  ruling  paper  for  its 
assessment-rolls  and  making  envelopes 
for  the  governor's  and-comptroller's  of- 
fices. In  the  beginning  of  this  year  I 
had  to  use  my  woollen  window-curtains 
for  riding-habits  for  my  daughters :  we 
had  now  also  to  spin  the  cotton  thread 
for  stockings  and  knit  for  the  whole 
household  ;  our  hats  were  made  of  plait- 
ed corn -shucks,  and  the  leather  torn 
from  two  fine  English  travelling  traps 
made  all  of  us  shoes. 

By  some  means  or  other,  which  were 
never  discovered,  the  negroes  were  kept 
better  posted  on  the  true  state  of  affairs 


A    NEGRO    ENCAMPMENT   IN    A   CORN-FIELD. 


than  we  were.  Many  a  time  when  the 
whole  town  was  roused  by  the  midnight 
pony  express  with  news  of  some  great 
victory,  when  bells  were  ringing  and 
men  shouting,  my  cook's  face  said  as 
plainly  as  possible,  "It's  all  a  lie,  and  I 
know  it;"  and  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten 
she  was  right.  After  all,  it  was  not  the 
want  of  luxuries,  of  dress,  or  even  of 
books  and  communication  with  the  out- 
er world,  that  hurt  most.  Worse  than 
the  lack  of  these  things,  worse  than  the 
occasional  spells  of  terror  and  anxiety, 
was  the  terrible,  shameful  spirit  of  self- 
ishness and  greed  that  marked  the  dying 
hours  of  the  Confederacy. 


In  April,  1865,  reports  of  Lee's  sur- 
render reached  Austin,  and  those  in 
authority  who  had  appropriated  United 
States  money  or  property  began  to  look 
Mexico-ward.  There  was  also  a  great 
dread  of  the  return  of  the  wild  troops 
raised  in  the  Rio  Grande  country ;  for 
very  few  of  these  rough  herdsmen,  hunt- 
ers, rangers  and  small  farmers  would  ever 
have  lifted  a  finger  to  preserve  slavery. 
They  owned  few  or  no  negroes,  and  if 
they  wanted  "help"  with  their  cattle 
preferred  some  Mexican  peon,  or  else 
they  worked  in  partnerships.  It  was 
the  cry  of  "State  Rights"  and  Texan 
independence  that  had  taken  them  from 


i88 


HOUSEKEEPING  IN  TEXAS. 


their  ranches  and  ranges.  Indeed,  as 
soon  as  they  found  that  they  had  been 
drawn  into  a  war  to  preserve  the  great 
planters'  power  and  property  they  be- 
came restless  and  mutinous,  and  when- 
ever opportunity  offered  great  numbers 
deserted.  Long  before  the  war  was  a 
hopeless  one  the  Texas  mountains  were 
full  of  "jayhawkers" — that  is,  of  men 
who  had  either  resisted  the  Confederate 
conscription  or  run  away  from  the  army. 
They  were  hung  or  shot  on  sight,  and  it 
was  only  necessary  for  a  man  to  call  his 
enemy  a  jayhawker  in  order  to  get  rid 
of  him.  On  July  22,  1864,  three  broth- 
ers were  hung  on  a  tree  within  sight  of 
my  windows :  two  of  them  had  left  a 
fight  they  declared  they  had  been  de- 
ceived into;  the  other,  a  lad  of  twenty, 
had  simply  refused  to  take  up  arms.  On 
another  occasion,  riding  my  horse  down 
to  the  river  to  water  him,  I  saw  a  man 
hanging  from  the  limb  of  a  tree  labelled 
"Nigger- thief."  Such  incidents  were  not 
of  rare  occurrence,  and  they  made  very 
little  sensation. 

The  lawless  state  of  the  town,  the  in- 
difference of  the  government  to  every- 
thing but  plunder,  the  insolence  of  the 
slaves  and  the  want  of  all  confidence 
and  comforts,  made  the  news  which  I 
thus  chronicle  under  date  of  May  25, 
1865,  not  unwelcome  :  "  The  war  is  over  : 
Lee  has  surrendered.  Plunder  and  fight- 
ing up  town.  Tom  has  gone  to  a  public 
meeting  to  consider  the  best  way  of  pro- 
tecting it."  It  was  another  month,  how- 
ever, before  the  proclamation  of  emanci- 
pation reached  Austin,  and  though  the 
negroes  knew  they  were  free,  not  one 
dared  to  take  advantage  of  the  know- 
ledge. On  the  22d  of  June  there  was  a 
report  of  United  States  troops  approach- 
ing, and  masters  generally  called  their 
slaves  together  and  in  as  few  words  as 
possible  told  them  they  "could  go."  I 
felt  sorry  for  both  masters  and  negroes : 
indeed,  the  latter  had  a  very  keen  sense 
of  disappointment  even  in  their  triumph. 
They  had  expected  freedom  to  come  with 
a  marching  army  and  the  sound  of  trum- 
pets, and  instead  the  ordinary  mail  had 
brought  the  news  and  their  masters  had 
read  it  to  them.  Absolved  from  all  re- 


straints, they  began  to  gather  in  groups 
about  the  street-corners  or  to  make  lit- 
tle camps  in  the  corn-fields,  which  were 
full  of  ripe  roasting  ears.  All  their  hopes 
were  fixed  on  the  advent  of  the  United 
States  troops,  but  as  day  after  day  pass- 
ed and  they  came  not,  many  returned  to 
their  old  masters.  The  rest  kept  quite  in 
the  background,  and  hid  their  impatience 
under  that  stolid  air  of  stupidity  which 
experience  had  taught  them  was  a  coat- 
of-mail  in  doubtful  circumstances. 

No  one  will  ever  understand  what  the 
women  suffered  at  this  time.  It  was  hard 
enough  to  find  the  idol  of  1861  clay  :  it  was 
hard  to  be  suddenly  cast  down  from  afflu- 
ence to  poverty,  hard  to  be  haunted  every 
hour  by  the  terror  and  lawlessness  which 
might  any  moment  entangle  their  hus- 
bands or  sons  or  brothers,  and  very  hard 
also  to  be  surrounded  by  domestic  wants 
and  trials  they  had  no  more  idea  how  to 
manage  than  the  children  who  cried  on 
their  knees.  The  distress  and  confusion 
in  every  house  were  but  faint  reflections 
of  the  spirit  of  lawlessness  which  held  its 
orgies  in  the  whiskey-stores.  These  places 
had  become  simple  rendezvous  of  roughs 
and  robbers  with  whom  murder  was  a 
business,  and  who,  anticipating  a  new 
order  of  things,  were  trying  to  arrange 
for  a  retreat  to  the  Rio  Grande  country. 
They  killed  each  other  almost  hourly  in 
settling  points  of  dispute,  but  no  one  in- 
terfered. 

On  the  nth  of  June  the  men  whom 
they  had  probably  waited  for,  the  sol- 
diers raised  in  the  Rio  Grande  territory, 
came  into  town.  I  have  an  impression 
that  their  number  was  about  two  thou- 
sand, and  their  bearing  and  appearance 
I  shall  never  forget.  They  were  the  real- 
ization of  the  almost  impossible  heroes 
of  Mier  and  the  Alamo.  They  rode  like 
centaurs,  they  were  armed  to  the  teeth, 
and,  though  in  a  very  tattered  condition, 
were  in  perfect  discipline. 

That  afternoon  in  broad  daylight  the 
United  States  treasury  was  robbed  of 
every  dollar.  The  treasurer  had  already 
fled  to  Mexico — public  opinion  said  far 
from  empty-handed  —  but  on  the  sol- 
diers the  whole  blame  fell.  Governor 
Murrah  then  followed  the  treasurer. 


A     VISIT   TO    THE   SHRINES   OF   OLD    VIRGINIA. 


189 


and  with  him  every  shadow  of  civil  au- 
thority departed. 

Eight  weeks  of  such  a  life  made  ev- 
ery one  almost  hopeless  as  to  better 
days,  but  one  evening  just  before  sun- 
set two  hundred  United  States  soldiers 
rode  very  quietly  up  the  street.  They  had 
come  to  prepare  for  the  two  regiments 
who  were  following  them,  and  they  went 
about  their  business  without  demonstra- 
tions of  any  kind.  The  next  day  the  old 
flag  floated  where  the  Confederate  cross 
would  never  float  again,  and  the  weary 
town,  worn  out  with  its  long  and  terri- 


ble watch,  rested  almost  gratefully  under 
its  protecting  folds. 

The  abolition  of  slavery  has  made  great 
political  changes,  but  in  domestic  life  there 
is  little  difference  between  1858  and  1878. 
Generally,  indeed,  the  new  order  of  things 
is  found  to  be  more  economical— to  involve 
less  care  and  less  obligation.  If  the  wo- 
men talk  regretfully  of  the  past,  it  is  just  as 
people  talk  of  a  brilliant  youth  which  yet 
they  would  not  choose  to  live  over  again, 
and  so  "  the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is 
dead"  hangs  pleasantly  enough  over  the 
days  that  remain. 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  SHRINES  OF  OLD  VIRGINIA. 


MASTER  DON'T  'LOW  HIS  HORSES  TO  BE  OVER-DRUV. 


IT  was  thirty  years  ago.  Since  that 
time  the  wheels  of  Progress  have 
been  rattling  onward  with  remorseless 
speed :  the  times  have  changed,  and 
men  and  manners  have  changed  with 
them.  Among  the  ruins  are  many  things 
which  we  cannot  regret,  and  some  things 
which  we  may  find  both  sweet  and  prof- 
itable to  remember.  It  was  thirty  years 


ago,  on  a  pleasant  autumn  morning,  that 
I  stepped  from  the  deck  of  the  James 
River  steamer  on  to  the  rickety  pier  at 
Grove  Landing,  a  point  some  thirty  miles 
above  Norfolk.  The  approach  of  the 
boat  aroused  the  only  occupant  of  the 
wharf,  a  drowsy,  frowzy  negro,  who  sat 
astride  of  a  log  apparently  absorbed  in 
angling,  but  who,  perceiving  a  couple 


190 


A    VISIT   TO    THE   SHRINES   OF  OLD    VIRGINIA. 


of  gentlemen  passengers  landed,  rubbed 
his  eyes,  drew  up  his  line  and  examined 
the  hook,  from  which  the  bait  had  been 
nibbled  ;  then,  adjusting  his  rags,  came 
forward  and  obsequiously  offered  to  tote 
our  luggage  to  the  shore.  His  services  be- 
ing accepted,  he  balanced  himself  with  a 
travelling-bag  in  each  hand  and  led  the 
way  by  the  long  platform  which  stretch- 
ed across  the  shallow  water  between  the 


"KIN   I   TOTE   YOUR   LUGGAGE,   SAH  ?" 

landing  and  the  shore,  then  up  the  bank, 
through  a  grove  of  overshadowing  trees, 
to  a  forlorn  wooden  shanty  which  served 
the  purpose  of  store,  dwelling,  stage-office, 
hotel  and  grogshop,  combining  all  the  at- 
ti actions  and  conveniences  of  a  village 
under  one  dilapidated  roof. 

From  this  description  it  will  be  readily 
understood  that  Grove  Landing  was  not 
the  terminus  of  mine,  nor  likely  to  be  of 
any  one  else's  journeying,  but  only  a  place 
of  transit ;  and  I  may  take  this  opportu- 
nity to  reveal  the  fact  that  I  was  bound 
for  the  city  of  Williamsburg,  once  the 
proud  capital  of  the  Ancient  Dominion, 
and  still  the  central  point  of  its  early 
history  and  traditions. 

My  fellow-traveller  was  a  native  of  the 
soil,  an  officer  of  the  United  States  navy 


on  leave  and  proposing  to  spend  Christ- 
mas among  his  kindred.  He  had  recent- 
ly returned  from  a  long  voyage  to  the 
antipodes,  while  I  was  visiting  the  clas- 
sic ground  for  the  first  time ;  so  we  read- 
ily fraternized  in  our  eagerness  to  get  over 
the  seven  miles  which  lay  between  us  and 
our  destination.  But  "  luck  in  leisure  " 
seemed  to  be  the  watchword  at  Grove 
Landing,  and  during  the  two  hours  we 
waited  for  the  hack  we  sincerely  re- 
gretted that  human  joys  and  sorrows 
were  not  even  more  transitory  than 
they  are  generally  represented. 

It  was  high  noon  before  we  got 
started,  but  the  roads  were  level 
and  reasonably  good,  and  our  black 
Jehu,  exhilarated  by  the  movement, 
sung,  whistled  and  cracked  his  whip 
with  an  energy  that  cheered  our  hopes 
and  restored  our  good-humor.  After 
a  spurt  of  half  a  mile,  however,  the 
enthusiasm  began  to  subside.  The 
driver  laid  up'  his  whip  and  com- 
menced droning  a  Methodist  hymn 
in  long-drawn  semibreves,  while  the 
horses  jogged  and  our  antiquated 
vehicle  swayed  and  creaked  in  lazy 
consonance.  Amidst  the  unbroken 
level  of  empty  stubble-fields  and 
dim  woodlands  there  was  nothing 
either  to  attract  the  eye  or  amuse 
the  mind.  My  fellow-passenger  evi- 
dently chafed  to  realize  the  long- 
anticipated  home-greeting.  I  was  a 
philosopher — that  is  to  say,  on  occasions 
— but  for  several  hours  I  had  been  cher- 
ishing an  enviable  appetite  until  it  had 
become  perhaps  unenviable.  Anticipa- 
ting famous  cheer  at  Williamsburg,  and 
determined  not  to  commit  "prandicide," 
I  had  contemptuously  rejected  all  the 
ignoble  lunches  of  crackers  and  cheese, 
cakes  and  beer,  herrings  and  whiskey, 
suggested  at  the  landing.  So,  when  the 
impatient  sailor  at  length  opened  on  the 
driver  and  team  with  the  most  caustic 
and  expressive  terms  in  the  marine  vo- 
cabulary, I  joined  him  with  a  will.  The 
impassive  brutes  paid  less  heed  to  our 
well-meant  efforts  than  they  might  have 
done  to  the  song  of  a  mosquito.  Con- 
scious of  failure,  we  tacked  and  manoeu- 
vred with  civil  remonstrances  and  en- 


A    VISIT   TO    THE   SHRINES   OF   OLD    VIRGINIA. 


191 


treaties.  Softened  by  these,  our  Jehu 
dropped  a  stave  or  two  of  his  hymn  and 
informed  us  that  his  "  master  didn't  'low 
the  critters  to  be  over-druv."  We  next 
condescended  to  bribery,  and,  contrib- 
uting a  quarter  each,  chucked  them  to  the 
conductor  with  the  remark  that  his  team 
was  more  likely  to  suffer  from  being  "  un- 
der-druv."  At  this  he  smiled  from  ear  to 
ear,  pocketed  the  cash,  took  up  the  whip 
and  chirruped  briskly  to  his  horses. 
The  next  mile  was  accomplished  mer- 
rily. There  was  a  long  stretch  of  level 
road  before  us,  and  through  the  haze 
we  could  faintly  discern  the  distant 
steeples  of  Williamsburg  rising  above 
the  woods.  Suddenly  its  speed  was 
checked,  and  our  vehicle  brought  to 
a  full  stop  in  the  re-entering  angle 
of  a  worm  fence.  The  driver  shuffled  •' 
down  from  his  box,  unharnessed  his 
horses,  and,  jumping  the  fence,  start- 
ed for  a  barn  about  half  a  mile  dis- 
tant. The  officer  shouted  after  him 
to  demand  the  meaning  of  this  sud- 
den desertion. 

"Gwine  to  feed,  sah,"  he  replied, 
and,  stumbling  on  his  way,  was  soon 
beyond  reproach  or  remonstrance. 

"Becalmed  in  sight  of  port!"  said 
my  comrade  with  a  sigh,  then  settled 
himself  for  a  nap. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  neighing  of 
the  horses  signalled  the  return  of  the  dri- 
ver, who  was  accompanied  by  a  Izfd  of 
his  own  race,  each  hugging  an  armful  of 
husked  corn.  This  was  deposited  in  the 
fence- corner  under  the  noses  of  the  ex- 
pectant animals,  who  spent  another  half 
hour  or  more  in  munching  it.  This  ope- 
ration was  overlooked  by  the  negroes 
from  the  top  rail,  where  they  sat  gos- 
siping and  caw-cawing  like  a  pair  of 
crows.  When  the  horses  had  worried 
through  their  allowance  we  started  again, 
and  soon  trotted  gayly  through  the  main 
street  of  Williamsburg,  passing  the  Ra- 
leigh and  drawing  rein  in  front  of  Hans- 
ford's  City  Hotel,  in  its  exterior  and  in- 
ternal appointments  resembling  an  old- 
fashioned  village  inn. 

It  was  three  P.  M. :  the  usual  dinner- 
hour  was  past,  but  my  appetite  brooked 
no  further  ceremony,  so  I  ordered  some- 


thing cold  to  be  served  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. After  a  very  reasonable  delay  I 
was  ushered  into  the  dining-room,  where 
I  found  the  benign  and  corpulent  land- 
lord standing  at  the  head  of  a  table  that 
would  have  seated  and  supplied  a  dozen 
persons,  although  I  was  the  only  guest  in 
the  house  at  the  time. 

Indicating  my  seat  by  a  courteous  wave 
of  the  hand,  he  proceeded  to  deliver  him- 


"THE  HAM,   SAH,   WAS   A   FAILURE." 

self  of  an  apology  for  the  absence  of  the 
crowning  dish  of  every  meal  in  Old  Vir- 
ginia :  "  I  am  sorry  to  say,  sah,  the  ham 
to-day  was  a  failure,  sah.  I  sent  that 
black  rascal  to  the  farm  this  morning, 
and  he  brought  me  a  ham  that  was 
a  little  suspicious  —  so  much  so  that  1 
couldn't  allow  it  to  appear,  sah.  Nig- 
gers have  no  judgment,  sah — never  will 
learn  anything,  sah.  Very  sorry,  indeed, 
sah." 

The  board  over  which  this  apology  was 
delivered  was  spread  with  a  superb  sad- 
dle of  roasted  mutton,  cold,  with  a  salad 
and  potatoes,  flanked  by  five  dishes  of 
fresh  and  succulent  York  River  oysters 
— stewed,  fried,  broiled,  scalloped  and 
raw.  Sharp-set  as  I  was,  I  made  a  cere- 
monious response  to  mine  host's  speech, 
expressing  my  appreciation  of  the  noble 
spread  before  me,  and  regretting  that  I 


I92 


A    VISIT  TO    THE   SHRINES   OF  OLD    VIRGINIA. 


might  not  be  able  to  do  it  full  justice. 
My  performance,  however,  quite  relieved 
the  good  man's  mind  in  regard  to  the 
ham,  and  certainly  rewarded  me  for  the 
abstinence  and  vexations  of  the  day. 

The  friend  whom  I  expected  to  meet 
here,  and  who  was  to  be  my  cicerone  in 
this  interesting  region,  had  not  yet  ar- 
rived, so  I  only  glanced  at  the  broad, 
grass-grown  streets  and  antiquated  build- 
ings of  the  quiet  city,  and  then  retired  to 
arrange  the  fossils  and  botanical  speci- 
mens I  had  collected,  and  finally  to  rest. 

As  the  next  morning  was  fair,  and  my 
friend  would  probably  not  arrive  until  the 
afternoon,  I  concluded  to  occupy  the  time 
by  a  visit  to  the  site  of  old  Jamestown, 
seven  or  eight  miles  distant.  The  land- 
lord furnished  the  horse,  and  I  took  the 
road  after  an  early  breakfast.  My  steed 
was  spirited  and  well-gaited,  the  road 
through  level  woodlands  admitted  of 
rapid  travelling,  and  after  an  hour's  ride 
I  found  myself  near  a  farm-house  on  the 
banks  of  the  swampy  bayou  which  sep- 
arates Jamestown  Island  from  the  main- 
land. I  here  discovered  that  I  had  miss- 
ed the  direct  road,  which  by  means  of  a 
causeway  and  bridge  affords  a  dry  pas- 
sage over  to  the  island. 

I  had  the  alternative  of  seeking  this 
road  by  a  circuitous  and  somewhat  con- 
fused path,  or  of  leaving  my  horse  and 
boating  across  the  bayou  directly  to  the 
tower,  which  seemed  quite  near  at  hand 
as  it  loomed  up  above  the  low  horizon.  I 
accepted  the  latter,  and  tying  my  horse 
securely  to  a  tree  embarked  in  a  heavy 
scow,  and  with  much  labor  rolled  and 
paddled  up  the  stream  toward  my  des- 
tination. Half  an  hour  of  this  work  quite 
exhausted  me,  and  the  tower  seemed  as 
far  off  as  when  I  started ;  so,  pushing  my 
leaky  and  unmanageable  vessel  through 
an  extensive  thicket  of  rushes  and  cat- 
tails, I  at  length  effected  a  landing  on 
terra  firma,  and  thence  on  foot  made  a 
bee-line  for  my  landmark.  A  weary  walk 
through  tangled  grass  and  over  plough- 
ed fields  brought  me  to  the  site  of  an- 
cient Jamestown,  and  here,  upon  a  bro- 
ken tombstone,  I  sat  down  to  rest  and 
woo  the  melancholy  Muse  of  History. 
It  was  on  this  spot  (May  13,  1607)  that 


our  ancestral  adventurers  planted  the  seed 
whose  growth  in  two  centuries  and  a  half 
has  overshadowed  the  New  World.  The 
settlement  is  thus  described  by  an  old 
writer :  "  The  place  they  chose  was  a 
peninsula,  two-thirds  thereof  being  en- 
compassed by  the  river  Powhatan,  and 
the  other  third  by  a  small  narrow  river, 
capable,  however,  of  receiving  vessels  of 
an  hundred  tons  almost  as  far  as  the  main 
river ;  and  at  spring  tides  it  overflows  and 
runs  into  the  Powhatan,  making  the  place 
a  perfect  island,  containing  about  two 
thousand  acres  of  firm  land,  besides  a 
great  deal  of  marshy  ground  ;  which  sit- 
uation was  looked  upon  as  a  great  secur- 
ity against  the  attacks  of  the  Indians." 
..."  They  landed  all  the  men  here  that 
were  intended  to  be  left  in  the  country, 
and  began  to  erect  a  slight  fort,  which 
they  barricaded  with  trees,  and  built 
some  few  huts,  to  which  they  gave  the 
name  of  Jamestown." 

It  was  natural  and  appropriate  enough 
that  these  loyal  Englishmen  should  have 
remembered  their  most  gracious  sovereign 
and  patron  in  naming  their  first  establish- 
ment in  this  new  land,  but  posterity  will 
ever  regret  their  bad  taste  in  substituting 
the  flunkeyish  appellation  of  "Jeems's 
River"  for  the  euphonious  and  majes- 
tic "  Powhatan." 

The  facilities  for  acquiring  land  in  this 
wild  country  so  encouraged  and  exagge- 
rated the  Englishman's  characteristic  pas- 
sion for  rural  independence  that  neither 
the  inconveniences  and  dangers  of  isola- 
tion nor  governmental  authority  could  in- 
duce these  settlers  to  remain  in  towns,  or 
even  in  convenient  proximity  to  each  oth- 
er. The  very  mechanics  imported  for  the 
needs  of  the  colony  quitted  their  trades 
and  turned  planters.  For  this  reason  city 
building  has  never  flourished  in  Old  Vir- 
ginia, and  Jamestown  in  its  palmiest  days 
was  never  more  than  a  very  modest  vil- 
lage. In  1698,  after  having  been  the  cap- 
ital and  chief  town  of  the  colony  for  nine- 
ty-one years,  it  was  nearly  destroyed  by 
fire,  and  Governor  Nicholson  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  circumstance  to  remove 
the  seat  of  government  to  the  Middle 
Plantations.  From  this  double  misfor- 
tune Jamestown  never  recovered,  but 


A    VISIT   TO    THE   SHRINES    OF   OLD    VIRGINIA. 


193 


continued  to  depopulate  and  perish  grad- 
ually. A  writer  describing  it  in  1737  says 
it  had  not  more  than  three-  or  four-score 
houses,  chiefly  storehouses  and  sailors' 
taverns.  Thereafter  it  sunk  into  such  ob- 
scurity that  history  fails  to  note  the  pre- 
cise date  when  the  last  light  twinkled  in 
its  darkening  windows  and  its  last  hearth- 
stone grew  cold.  There  are  those  yet  liv- 
ing who  can  remember  when  several  ruin- 
ed chimneys,  some  lines  of  brick  founda- 
tion-walls and  one  decaying,  tenantless 


house  were  still  visible  ;  but  beneath  the 
grinding  ploughshare  and  the  encroach- 
ing waters  of  the  river  these  have  long 
since  disappeared.  Now  no  trace  of  the 
ancient  settlement  remains,  except  this 
lonely  church -tower  and  the  graveyard 
overgrown  with  trees  and  wild  vines.  The 
tower  is  of  brick,  ten  or  twelve  feet  square, 
from  twenty-five  to  thirty  in  height  and 
picturesquely  draped  with  a  growth  of 
the  Virginia  creeper.  The  graveyard 
adjacent  is  quite  small,  probably  less 


VIEW   OF  JAMESTOWN   POINT,   LOOKING   UP   THE   RIVER. 


than  twenty  yards  square,  enclosed  by 
a  low  crumbling  wall  and  crowded  with 
memorials  of  the  dead.  Some  of  the 
tombs  are  of  fine  marble  richly  carved, 
with  inscriptions  in  Latin,  others  of 
coarser  material  and  workmanship,  let- 
tered in  antiquated  English,  the  whole 
so  worn  and  blackened  by  time,  broken 
and  scattered  by  iconoclastic  idlers,  over- 
grown by  roots  and  wild  briers,  that  I 
found  not  a  single  epitaph  fully  legible. 
One  fragment  only  remains  impressed 
upon  my  memory,  that  of  some  innocent 
"child-wife"  of  two  hundred  years  ago 
gone  to  her  early  rest — "  Ursula  Beverly, 
wife  of .  .  .  Beverly,  aged  17  years  .  .  ." 
It  is  evident  that  the  graveyard,  with 
all  its  brick  and  marble  memorials,  will 
shortly  be  absorbed;  literally  devoured 


by  the  vigorous  growth  which  occupies 
and  overshadows  it.  The  undermining 
river  is  also  perceptibly  approaching  the 
site  of  the  tower,  and  in  a  few  years  there 
will  be  nothing  left  of  Jamestown  but  a 
tradition. 

At  this  point  in  my  reflections  I  was 
interrupted  by  the  approach  of  a  stout, 
red-faced  man  in  a  broad-brimmed  hat, 
who  rode  up  and  saluted  me  with  that 
frank  courtesy  which  is  native  to  this 
region.  We  mutually  introduced  our- 
selves. He  was  overseer  of  the  James- 
town Island  estate,  now  belonging  to 
Mr.  Allen  of  Clifton  :  I  was  a  sentimen- 
tal tourist  visiting  the  ruins — both  well- 
understood  characters  and  requiring  no 
further  explanations.  Seeing  it  was  now 
past  noon,  he  politely  entreated  me  to 


1 94 


A    VISIT   TO    THE   SHRINES   OF  OLD    VIRGINIA. 


visit  the  plantation -house  and  partake 
of  some  refreshment;  and  as  I  was  afoot 
and  the  house  nearly  a  mile  distant,  he 
dismounted,  urgently  insisting  that  I 
should  use  his  horse.  This  I  declined 
with  thanks,  but  accepted  the  invitation 
to  refresh  ;  so  he  rode  rapidly  homeward 
to  prepare  for  my  coming,  while  I  fol- 
lowed at  my  leisure.  The  plantation- 
house  was  a  large  double  brick  mansion 
located  in  a  pleasant  grove  of  trees  near 
the  river,  which  is  a  mile  or  more  in 
width  at  this  point.  Here  I  found  a  sub- 
stantial lunch  already  served,  of  which  I 
partook,  prefacing  it  with  the  essential 
dram  —  a  lowland  custom  supposed  to 
counteract  the  effects  of  malaria  and 
bad  water. 

Amid  the  perishing  ruins  of  bricks  and 
mortar  and  the  mouldering  tombs  of 
many  successive  generations  it  is  pleas- 
ant to  observe  how  bravely  a  people  will 
cling  to  the  good  old  customs  of  their 
ancestors.  More  than  two  centuries  ago 
a  writer  thus  described  the  habits  of  the 
Virginia  settlers:  "The  English  inhab- 
itants are  very  courteous  to  travellers, 
who  need  no  other  recommendation  but 
the  being  human  creatures.  A  stranger 
has  no  more  to  do  but  to  inquire  upon 
the  road  where  any  gentleman  or  good 
housekeeper  lives,  and  there  he  may  de- 
pend upon  his  being  received  with  hospi- 
tality. This  good-nature  is  so  very  gen- 
eral among  their  people  that  the  gentry, 
when  they  go  abroad,  order  their  princi- 
pal servants  to  entertain  all  visitors  with 
everything  the  plantation  affords,  and 
the  poor  planters  who  have  but  one  bed 
will  very  often  sit  up  or  lie  upon  a  form 
or  couch  all  night  to  make  room  for  a 
weary  traveller  to  repose  himself." 

Taking  leave  of  my  entertainer,  I  walk- 
ed back  by  the  road  across  the  causeway 
to  the  point  where  I  had  left  my  horse. 
I  was  somewhat  shocked  at  missing  him 
from  the  spot  where  I  had  tied  him,  but 
was  agreeably  relieved  presently  to  find 
him  safely  stabled  and  revelling  in  corn 
and  fodder.  The  farmer  had  volunteer- 
ed this  civility  during  my  long  absence, 
remarking  that  "he  didn't  like  to  see  a 
critter  suffering,"  and  then  declined  my 
offer  of  remuneration  with  a  look  of  dig- 


nified surprise.  An  hour's  gallop  took 
me  back  to  Williamsburg,  where  I  was 
sincerely  gratified  to  meet  the  friend  I 
had  been  expecting. 

This  gentleman  had  been  from  his 
youth  a  zealous  collector  of  the  family 
records  and  local  traditions  connected 
with  the  history  of  his  native  State,  and 
by  simply  observing  the  cast  of  features, 
voice  and  bearing  of  any  dashing  youth 
he  chanced  to  meet  could  name  his  race 
and  ancestry  with  surprising  accuracy ; 
while  there  was  not  a  decaying  planta- 
tion-house, lonely  chimney,  mouldering 
tombstone  or  archaeological  brick  in  the 
land  with  whose  legend  he  was  not  fa- 
miliar. In  the  great  house  and  the  cabin 
he  was  always  a  welcome  and  honored 
guest,  and  landed  magnate,  learned  pro- 
fessor, sallow  oyster  -  scraper  or  super- 
annuated negro  all  alike  met  him  with  a 
smile  of  friendly  recognition  and  claim- 
ed a  shake  of  his  venerable  hand. 

If  with  such  a  Mentor  as  my  compan- 
ion in  this  land  of  traditions  I  have  fail- 
ed to  note  anything  especially  worthy  of 
remembrance,  or  have  fallen  into  errors 
and  misconceptions,  it  must  be  charged 
to  my  flippant  and  superficial  nature,  for 
thirty  years  ago  I  esteemed  the  things  of 
the  past  as  lightly  as  I  now  do  those  of 
the  present. 

This  site  was  first  settled  by  English- 
men in  1632  under  the  name  of  the 
"Middle  Plantations."  Sixty-six  years 
afterward,  when  Governor  Nicholson 
made  it  the  seat  of  the  colonial  gov- 
ernment, it  seems  to  have  been  still  an 
insignificant  village  of  not  more  than 
thirty  or  forty  scattered  houses.  There 
seem  also  to  have  been  differences  of 
opinion  among  the  old-time  folks  about 
capital-moving,  just  as  there  are  now-a- 
days.  One  writer  says  :  "Soon  after  his 
[Governor  Nicholson's]  accession  to  the 
government  he  procured  the  Assembly 
and  courts  of  judicature  to  be  removed 
from  Jamestown  (where  there  were  good 
accommodations  for  people)  to  Middle 
Plantations,  where  there  were  none. 
There  he  flattered  himself  with  the 
fond  imagination  of  being  the  founder 
of  a  new  city.  He  marked  out  the 
streets  in  many  places,  so  that  they 


A     VISIT   TO    THE   SHRINES   OF   OLD    VIRGINIA. 


195 


might  represent  the  figure  of  a  W,  in 
memory  of  His  late  Majesty,  after  whose 
name  the  town  was  called  Williamsburg : 
there  he  procured  a  stately  fabric  to  be 
erected,  which  he  placed  opposite  to  the 
college  and  graced  with  the  magnificent 
name  of  the  Capitol."  Judging  the  past 
from  the  present,  we  may  imagine  the 
sarcastic  tone  of  this  paragraph  to  have 
been  prompted  by  an  interest  in  James- 
town lots. 

The  Williamsburg  speculator  views  the 


subject  through  different  glasses,  thus : 
"  The  first  metropolis,  Jamestown,  was 
built  in  the  most  convenient  place  for 
trade  and  security  against  the  Indians, 
but  often  received  much  damage,  being 
twice  burnt  down,  after  which  it  never 
recovered  its  perfection,  consisting  at 
present  of  nothing  but  abundance  of 
brick  rubbish  and  three  or  four  good  in- 
habited houses."  .  .  .  "  When  the  State- 
house  and  prison  were  burnt  down,  Gov- 
ernor Nicholson  removed  the  residence 


THE   OLD   CHURCH-TOWER,   JAMESTOWN. 


of  the  governor,  with  the  meetings  of 
the  general  courts  and  General  Assem- 
blies, to  Middle  Plantations,  seven  miles 
from  Jamestown,  in  a  healthier  and  more 
convenient  place  and  freer  from  the  an- 
noyance of  rnoschetoes."  .  .  .  "Here  he 
laid  out  the  city  of  Williamsburg,  in  the 
form  of  a  cipher  made  of  W  and  M,  on 
a  ridge  at  the  head-springs  of  two  great 
creeks,  one  running  into  the  James  and 
the  other  into  the  York  River,  which  are 
each  navigable  for  sloops  within  a  mile 


of  the  town ;  at  the  head  of  which  creeks 
are  good  landings  and  lots  laid  out  and 
dwelling-houses  and  warehouses  built; 
so  that  this  town  is  most  conveniently 
situated  in  the  middle  of  the  lower  part 
of  Virginia,  commanding  two  noble  riv- 
ers, not  above  four  miles  from  either,  and 
is  much  more  commodious  and  healthful 
than  if  built  upon  a  river." 

Notwithstanding  all  these  advantages, 
and  the  governor's  zeal  to  build  up  his 
new  city,  Williamsburg,  during  the  eighty 


A    VISIT  TO    THE  SHRINES   OF  OLD    VIRGINIA. 


years  of  its  capitoline  honors,  never  con- 
tained more  than  two  thousand  inhabit- 
ants. In  1779,  following  the  predestined 
"course  of  empire,"  the  seat  of  govern- 
ment was  removed  to  Richmond.  Since 
that  date  the  city  of  Williamsburg  has 
continued  to  dwindle.  Its  broad  avenues 
and  spacious  areas  have  grown  into  green 
and  pleasant  pasture-grounds ;  an  occa- 
sional conflagration  has  hastened  the  ruin 
of  its  empty  government  buildings ;  and 
even  the  famous  college,  with  its  seven 
endowed  professorships,  although  reck- 
oned among  the  things  of  life,  stands  like 
"  some  banquet-hall  deserted,"  having  at 


A    LANDED   PROPRIETOR. 


this  session  but  seventeen  students  in  at- 
tendance. Notwithstanding  these  gene- 
ral indications  of  decadence,  Williams- 
burg  still  retains  much  to  remind  us  of 
its  ancient  dignity.  This  was  evidently 
no  common  village  huddled  together  for 
the  convenience  of  artisans  and  huck- 
sters. The  haughty  individuality  of  its 
quaint,  one-storied,  hip-roofed  dwellings, 
each  standing  apart  in  its  own  grounds, 
recalls  the  characteristic  pride  of  the 
old  colonial  planter,  who,  lured  into  city- 
life  by  the  charms  of  society  or  court- 
ly ambition,  still  affected  to  spread 
himself  in  aristocratic  scorn  of  con- 
tiguity. 

The  all-pervading  quiet  is  also  impres- 


sive— not  as  suggestive  of  death  or  stag- 
nation, but  rather  of 

That  repose 
Which  marks  the  caste  of  Vere  de  Vere, 

as  if  the  venerable  city  held  her  traditions 
too  sacred  to  be  disturbed  by  the  clatter 
of  trade,  and,  once  having  worn  a  dia- 
dem, disdains  for  evermore  the  vulgar 
pretensions  of  Progress. 

In  full  sympathy  with  the  prevailing 
sentiment,  my  friend  and  I  passed  the 
day  visiting  the  ancient  sites  and  culti- 
vating a  dreamy  intimacy  with  bygone 
generations,  all  the  more  pleasing  as  it 
was  unvexed  by  any  of  those  obtrusive 
anachronisms  which  are  so  apt  to  inter- 
rupt one's  historic  reveries  in  less-favor- 
ed localities. 

Our  first  thought  leads  us  to  the  time- 
honored  minster  of  Bruton  Parish,  a  pile 
of  dark  brick  masonry,  cruciform,  solid, 
with  a  certain  air  of  antiquated  stateli- 
ness,  its  tombs,  memorial  tablets  and 
high-backed  pews  reminding  us  of  the 
loyal  piety  or  pious  loyalty  of  the  early 
colonists.  From  hence  we  direct  our 
steps  to  the  site  of  the  old  Capitol.  The 
transition  from  Church  to  State  was  brief 
and  natural  enough  in  those  old  times — 
scarcely  perceptible,  in  fact  —  but  now 
how  distant  and  how  striking  the  con- 
trast !  From  the  enduring  and  unsha- 
ken walls  of  the  church  the  music  of  the 
solemn  chant,  the  murmur  of  the  fervid 
litany,  the  recitative  of  the  sublime  creed 
still  bear  witness  to  an  imperishable  faith 
and  proclaim  the  hope  of  an  eternal  fu- 
ture, while  the  ancient  Capitol  (in  its  day 
the  most  noble  and  commodious  state 
building  in  British  America)  has  disap- 
peared in  dust  and  ashes,  like  the  au- 
thority, state-craft  and  political  creed  to 
which  it  owed  its  passing  existence. 

The  Capitol  erected  by  Governor  Nich- 
olson in  1689  was  destroyed  by  fire  in  1746. 
Its  successor  met  a  similar  fate  in  1832  : 
traces  of  the  foundation-plan  and  a  few 
crumbling  bricks  alone  indicate  its  loca- 
tion, which  was  in  the  centre  of  a  spaci- 
ous area  at  the  end  of  a  broad  avenue, 
facing  the  college,  about  a  mile  distant. 

After  Church  and  State,  the  University 
appears  in  regular  order  to  complete  the 
English  political  trinitv.  From  the  ear- 


A    VISIT   TO    THE   SHRINES    OF  OLD    VIRGINIA. 


liest  settlements  there  had  been  individ- 
ual efforts  and  liberal  donations  to  estab- 
lish schools  for  the  benefit  both  of  the 
colonists  and  aboriginals,  but  the  press- 
ing necessities  and  sharp  vicissitudes  of 
their  new  life  were  not  calculated  to  im- 
press men's  minds  with  the  advantages  of 
book-learning.  Planting  tobacco,  fight- 
ing Indians  and  literary  culture  are  not 
homogeneous.  Moreover,  the  prevailing 
predilection  of  the  settlers  for  a  life  of 
isolated  independence  on  their  own  free- 
holds was  in  itself  an  insuperable  barrier 
to  anything  like  an  organized  system  of 
schooling.  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore, 
that  more  than  half  a  century  had  rolled 
over  colonial  Virginia  before  the  plan  of 
an  educational  establishment  was  serious- 
ly determined  on  by  her  rulers.  Mean- 
while, the  wealthier  gentry  had  been  ac- 
customed to  send  their  sons  to  the  Eng- 
lish universities,  while  the  poorer  and 
less  ambitious  got  what  they  could  from 
home-teaching,  assisted  perhaps  by  some 
wandering  pedagogue  or  reputable  cler- 
gyman. At  length,  in  1660-61,  the  House 
of  Burgesses  passed  a  bill  authorizing  a 
subscription  for  the  purpose  of  establish- 
ing a  college,  to  the  end  "that  the  Church 
of  Virginia  may  be  furnished  with  a  sem- 
inary of  ministers  of  the  gospel,  and  the 
youth  may  be  piously  educated  in  good 
letters  and  manners,  and  that  the  Chris- 
tian faith  may  be  propagated  amongst 
the  Western  Indians  to  the  glory  of* Al- 
mighty God." 

Sir  William  Berkeley,  then  governor 
of  the  colony,  in  reply  to  some  questions 
from  England,  expresses  himself  thus  : 
"  I  thank  God  there  are  no  free  schools 
nor  printing,  and  I  hope  we  shall  not 
have  these  hundred  years  ;  for  learning 
has  brought  disobedience  and  heresy  and 
sects  into  the  world,  and  printing  has  di- 
vulged them  and  libels  against  the  best 
government.  God  keep  us  from  both  !" 
These  were  doubtless  the  orthodox  and 
ruling  opinions  of  that  day,  and  not  in- 
consistent with  the  governor's  warm  ap- 
proval of  a  colonial  "  Oxford  "  to  educate 
the  clergy  and  gentlemen  of  his  realm. 
But  while  everybody  was  willing,  the  proj  - 
ect  lingered  until  1691,  when,  through  the 
efficient  zeal  of  the 'Rev.  James  Blair,  a 


197 

charter  with  additional  endowments  was 
obtained  from  the  Crown,  and  the  col- 
lege, called  William  and  Mary  after  its 
royal  patron's,  actually  established  at 
Williamsburg. 

The  after-history  of  the  institution  is  a 
record  of  struggles  and  vicissitudes.  It 
seerns  never  to  have  been  very  numer- 
ously attended  nor  popularly  prosperous, 
but  the  long  list  of  eminent  names  ap- 
pearing in  its  catalogue  proves  how  no- 
bly the  more  important  and  practical 
branches  of  its  mission  have  been  ful- 
filled. The  Indian  school  is  now  but  a 


A    PROFESSOR   OF  THE  HUMANITIES  IN    THE 
INDIAN  SCHOOL. 

romantic  tradition.  Speaking  of  it  in 
1724,  Hugh  Jones  says:  "The  young 
Indians,  procured  from  the  tributary  or 
foreign  nations  with  much  difficulty,  were 
formerly  boarded  and  lodged  in  town, 
where  abundance  of  them  used  to  die, 
either  through  sickness,  change  of  pro- 
vision and  way  of  life,  or,  as  some  will 
have  it,  often  for  want  of  proper  neces- 
saries and  due  care  taken  with  them. 
Those  of  them  that  have  escaped  well, 
and  have  been  taught  to  read  and  write, 
have  for  the  most  part  returned  to  their 
home,  some  with  and  some  without  bap- 
tism, where  they  follow  their  own  savage 


198 


A    VISIT  TO    THE   SHRINES  OF  OLD    VIRGIXIA. 


customs  and  heathenish  rites.  A  few  of 
them  lived  as  servants  with  the  English 
or  loitered  and  idled  away  their  time  in 
laziness  and  mischief."  The  intention 
was  at  least  humane  and  generous,  and 
about  as  successful  as  any  "Indian  pol- 
icy" undertaken  elsewhere  or  since  by 
people  of  the  English  race. 

At  this  date  the  college  is  the  most 
imposing  edifice  extant  in  Williamsburg. 
The  original  plans  were  furnished  by  Sir 
Christopher  Wren — not  in  his  ambitious 
style,  however,  but  plain,  economical 
and  adapted  to  the  purpose,  reminding 
one  of  the  old  London  brick  architecture 
of  the  past  century.  It  stands  in  a  spa- 
cious campus,  the  entrance  to  which  is 
guarded  by  two  stunted  live-oaks  and  a 
statue  of  Norborne  Berkeley,  baron  of 
Botetourt,  a  governor  of  the  colony  and 
liberal  patron  of  literature  and  the  arts, 
who  died  in  1770. 

And  this  brings  us  to  the  era  of  tran- 
sition from  English  colonial  history  to 
that  of  American  independence — a  pe- 
riod of  which  Williamsburg  contains 
many  interesting  memorials. 

We  may  remark  that  the  statue  be- 
fore us  is  noseless  and  otherwise  muti- 
lated, the  record  (it  is  said)  of  a  patriotic 
mob  of  1776.  Farther  on  we  find  the 
remains  of  the  palace  where  Lord  Dun- 
more,  the  last  of  the  English  governors, 
kept  royal  state.  The  palace  was  burnt 
by  the  French  troops  in  1781,  and  noth- 
ing is  left  of  it  now  but  two  stiff,  prag- 
matical-looking brick  buildings  staring 
at  each  other  across  a  grassy  courtyard 
— one  the  old  guard-room,  the  other  oc- 
cupied for  offices. 

Another  reminiscence  of  Dunmore  is 
the  old  magazine  on  Capitol  Square, 
familiarly  called  the  "  Powder  -  horn." 
Alarmed  at  the  rebellious  manifestations 
around  him,  in  1774  he  had  all  the  ammu- 
nition secretly  removed  from  this  build- 
ing to  a  British  ship  of  war  lying  in  the 
river  —  an  act  which  caused  an  armed 
assemblage  of  the  Virginians,  who,  led  by 
Patrick  Henry,  demanded  and  received 
pecuniary  satisfaction  from  the  secretary 
of  the  colony.  This  building  is  an  oc- 
tagon of  stone  with  a  sharp  peaked  roof, 
and  is  still  in  perfect  preservation. 


Then,  above  all,  there  is  the  old  Ra- 
leigh Tavern,  a  low-browed,  old-fashion- 
ed wooden  building,  still  kept  as  an  inn 
and  parading  a  bust  of  Sir  Walter  Ra- 
leigh over  the  front  door.  Here  one 
may  enter  the  very  room  and  sit  in  the 
same  chairs  where  high  questions  were 
discussed  in  tones  whose  echoes  have 
not  yet  ceased  to  reverberate  through 
the  world — where  that  trenchant  blade 
was  whetted  which  at  one  bold  stroke 
severed  royal  authority,  Church  bigotry 
and  caste  education,  the  triple  chain 
which  had  hitherto  bound  the  new  peo- 
ple to  the  old.  Standing  here,  it  is  easy  to 
identify  one's  self  with  the  past — in  fan- 
cy to  participate  in  the  hopes,  the  fears 
and  enthusiastic  resolves  of  the  opening 
contest — then  to  skip  some  weary  years 
and  again  recall  the  emotions  of  pallid 
citizens  as  from  the  housetops  they  watch- 
ed the  battle-cloud  rising  over  the  distant 
woods  and  listened  with  bated  breath  to 
the  awful  voices  of  those  brazen-mouthed 
orators  uttering  the  ultima  ratio  rcgum 
which  brought  that  contest  to  a  glorious 
conclusion.  But  we  must  not  anticipate. 
Yorktown  is  only  twelve  miles  distant, 
and  we  will  visit  it  to-morrow. 

During  our  morning's  round  my  com- 
panion had  so  enlivened  the  gravity  of 
our  historic  studies  by  anecdotes  of  the 
lords,  ladies,  governors  and  ancient  gen- 
try who  had  once  figured  on  this  desert- 
ed stage  that  I  began  to  feel  annoyed 
with  a  sense  of  my  personal  anachron- 
ism in  such  ornate  society  and  half 
ashamed  of  my  slopshop  kerseymeres 
and  plumeless  hat.  I  had  gone  back 
two  centuries  without  changing  my 
clothes. 

Dinner  was  refreshing  and  consola- 
tory, although  there  was  nothing  about 
mine  host's  table  or  manners  to  recall 
the  progressive  era  from  which  I  had 
retrograded.  The  ham  was  baronial ; 
the  hominy  pounded  and  cooked  by  a 
recipe  descended  directly  from  the  fa- 
vorite wife  of  King  Powhatan ;  the  teal 
and  red-head  ducks,  opened  at  the  back 
and  broiled  over  the  coals,  were  a  savory 
memento  of  Captain  John  Smith  and  his 
fellow-adventurers  of  1607 ;  the  scalloped 
oysters  were  served  in  fossil  shells  of  pre- 


A    VISIT  TO    THE  SHRINES   OF  OLD    VIRGINIA. 


historic  ages ;  the  very  hearty  yet  defe- 
rential urgency  with  which  these  tempt- 
ing viands  were  offered  and  commended 
to  the  guests  belonged  to  other  times. 
Then,  when  the  distinguished  professor 
of  law,  just  informed  of  our  coming  and 
hospitably  jealous  of  the  time  already 
lost,  hastened  over  to  move  us  to  his 
house,  bag  and  baggage,  the  polished 
yet  glowing  cordiality  of  his  manner 
fully  realized  my  golden  dreams  of 
colonial  courtliness.  Nevertheless, 
Mentor  and  I  had  arranged  our 
plans  otherwise,  thinking  it  better 
to  remain  at  our  inn,  and  I,  being 
the  stranger,  assumed  the  ungracious 
task  of  declining  the  invitation.  Our 
stay  in  the  city  must  be  but  brief; 
we  should  be  occupied  early  and  late 
in  visiting  the  various  objects  of  in- 
terest in  the  vicinity,  studying  botany 
in  the  woods  and  swamps,  rummag- 
ing records  and  digging  for  fossils 
in  marl-beds;  my  room  was  already 
lumbered  with  specimens  which  I 
desired  to  preserve,  and  which  could 
not  be  moved  without  an  unreason- 
able amount  of  time  and  trouble. 
We  thanked  him  most  sincerely, 
and  regretted,  etc.,  etc. 

The   professor  listened   with  the 
courtesy   of  a  gentleman   and  the 
practised  patience  of  a  judge,  then 
with  an  ejaculation  of  indignant  sur- 
prise exclaimed,  "What!  will  my  old  * 
kinsman  here  and  his  friend  persist  in 
staying  at  a  public  tavern  when  my  house 
is  open  for  them  just  across  the  street  ?" 
I  was  obstinate,  adding  that  under  the 
circumstances  I  feared  lest  we  might  be 
troublesome  and  unprofitable  guests. 

He  replied  with  a  look  of  disappoint- 
ment, "Well,  gentlemen,  as  you  reject 
my  hospitality,  .perhaps  you  will  conde- 
scend to  take  tea  with  me  this  evening  ?" 
This  we  cheerfully  agreed  to  do,  and 
were  prompt  at  the  appointed  hour. 

The  house  was  of  the  old  style — not 
too  stately,  but  broad  and  roomy,  with 
floors  of  polished  parquetry,  grooved  in 
semicircles  where  the  heavy  oaken  doors 
had  been  dragged  open  and  shut  for  a 
century  or  more.  The  furniture  was  sub- 
stantially comfortable  and  elegantly  un- 


199 

obtrusive.  The  walls  were  adorned  with 
ancestral  portraits  in  the  costumes  of  past 
generations.  The  supper  enfamille  com- 
pleted a  most  delightful  picture  of  Old 
Virginia's  domestic  life. 

When  this  bountiful  meal  was  con- 
cluded, the  professor  with  his  guests 
withdrew  to  a  cozy  sitting-room,  where 
they  were  presently  joined  by  his  grown 
daughter,  a  girl  of  romantic  beauty  and 


most  engaging  manners,  who  at  her  la- 
ther's request  entertained  us  with  some 
pleasant  music.  Very  soon  two  or  three 
collegians  dropped  in,  and  the  company 
separated  into  natural  and  appropriate 
groups.  The  young  people  were  merry 
and  musical.  I  was  grouped  with  the 
elders,  who  for  my  edification  continued 
the  subject  of  Virginia  and  her  history. 
But  I  was  not  old  then,  and  the  poetic 
light  of  a  fair  young  face  had  for  the 
hour  banished  the  antique  shadows  that 
had  been  haunting  my  fancy,  and  my 
ears  followed  the  merry  music  instead 
of  the  learned  and  instructive  discourse 
of  my  friends.  Thus  I  might  have  lost 
the  motive  of  the  evening  but  for  a  diver- 
sion caused  by  the  entrance  of  a  negro 
servant  bearing  a  service  of  massive  sil- 


2OO 


A    VISIT   TO    THE  SHRINES   OF  OLD    VIRGINIA. 


ver.  Our  grizzled  Ganymede  was  of  a 
type  now  obsolete — of  those  who  filled 
their  humble  offices  so  loyally  as  to  in- 
vest even  slavery  itself  with  an  air  of 
patriarchal  dignity.  The  centre-piece  of 
the  service  was  a  pitcher  of  steaming 
punch,  which  scented  the  room  with 
an  unmistakable  odor  of  "Scotch  ortho- 
doxy." The  silver  tankards  were  filled. 
The  Freshmen  of  course  declined  the 
courtly  professor's1  invitation  :  this  was 
not  "milk  for  babes."  I  now  cheerfully 
resumed  my  position  in  the  Senior  class  : 
.that  peat-smoked  "mountain-dew"  was 
of  rare  antiquity  and  had  a  history  worth 
discussing. 

A  sense  of  increasing  comfort  remind- 
ed us  that  a  November  storm  was  brewing 
without,  and  the  zest  of  our  punch  was 
possibly  heightened  by  the  pattering  of 
frozen  rain-drops  against  the  windows. 
Punch  is  of  an  absorbing  nature,  and 
we  soon  forgot  everything  else  but  our 
Virginia  traditions.  So  we  sipped  and 
talked,  and  the  conversation  waxed  and 
warmed:  the  theme  was  inexhaustible, 
and  so,  it  seemed,  were  our  tankards.  I 
imbibed  and  absorbed  industriously,  hop- 
ing to  finish  my  mug  and  turn  it  down, 
but  whenever  I  returned  to  it  I  was  mys- 
tified to  find  it  always  full  and  steaming 
hot.  I  shook  my  head  significantly  at 
the  gray-haired  butler,  who  smiled  like 
a  beneficent  sphinx.  Meanwhile,  the 
Freshmen  took  their  leaves  and  depart- 
ed. The  fair  daughter  kissed  her  father 
and  gracefully  bid  his  guests  good-night. 
Still  the  ancient  nectar-bearer  stood  his 
ground,  and  still,  like  the  miraculous 
cruse  of  the  widow  of  Zarephath,  our 
steaming  tankards  "failed  not."  Between 
the  alternating  anecdotes  of  Washington 
and  Harry  Lee  and  Jefferson  and  Ran- 
dolph I  frequently  endeavored  to  catch 
our  old  conjurer  at  his  pleasant  tricks, 
but  his  art  eluded  my  subtlety.  So  pass- 
ed the  genial  and  profitable  hours  until 
at  length  (prematurely,  as  it  seemed  to 
me)  my  Mentor  suggested  that  it  was 
time  to  go :  the  finger  of  the  mantel- 
clock  indicated  midnight.  Then  we  rose, 
and,  effusive  with  thanks  and  compli- 
ments, bade  adieu  to  our  host.  He  sig- 
nalled the  major-domo,  who  obediently 


deposited  his  silver  pitcher,  and,  taking 
up  two  lighted  candles,  led  the  way  to  the 
hall.  There  we  proposed  to  resume  our 
hats  and  cloaks,  but  the  massive  outer 
door,  near  which  we  had  left  them,  was 
closed  and  barred,  and  the  lights  beck- 
oned us  persuasively  toward  the  broad 
stairway. 

"But  we  left  our  wrappings  here,"  said 
I,  groping  about  and  hesitating  to  fol- 
low the  candles,  which  had  already  com- 
menced the  ascent. 

Our  conductor  waved  us  upward  with 
the  bland  assurance  that  he  was  leading 
us  directly  to  the  object  of  our  wishes. 
Hot  punch  lubricates  a  stubborn  will  as 
warm  suet  does  a  stiff  neck,  and  we  fol- 
lowed up  the  easy  grade  without  further 
resistance  and  dreamily  uncertain  as  to 
the  denouement. 

On  reaching  the  upper  hall  I  was  ush- 
ered into  an  elegantly-furnished  cham- 
ber, and  as  the  major  placed  the  candle 
on  the  dressing-table  a  smile  of  triumph 
twinkled  through  his  habitual  obsequi- 
ousness. "Here,"  said  he,  "you  will  find 
everything  agreeable,  I  hope;"  and  bid- 
ding me  good-night  he  retired  and  closed 
the  door. 

My  bewilderment  increased  as  I  pro- 
ceeded to  inventory  the  contents  of  the 
room.  There  in  good  faith  hung  my  hat 
and  cloak,  more  neatly  brushed  than 
usual.  There  too  was  my  portmanteau, 
and  beside  it  my  extra  boots  polish- 
ed almost  beyond  recognition.  Certain 
changes  of  linen  raiment  which  1  had 
sent  to  the  hotel  laundry  lay  on  the 
wardrobe,  starched,  crimped  and  prop- 
erly folded.  My  sketch  -  book,  papers, 
travelling  inkstand  and  pen  were  con- 
veniently adjusted  on  a  table,  while  a 
roomy  recess  contained  my  museum  of 
shells,  fossils  and  botanical  specimens 
arranged  with  more  order  and  intelli- 
gence than  I  was  capable  of  bestowing 
on  them.  Now,  I  was  never  supersti- 
tious, yet  I  must  acknowledge  these  un- 
accountable appearances,  joined  with  the 
mystery  of  the  punch -tankard  and  the 
reputation  of  the  African  race  for  con- 
jurations and  enchantments,  did  so  ob- 
fuscate my  brain  that  I  concluded  to 
sleep  before  attempting  a  solution  of  the 


A    VISIT   TO    THE  SHRINES   OF  OLD    VIRGINIA. 


problem.  Thereupon  I  sank  into  the 
curtained  bed  and  slept  luxuriously  un- 
til morning.  My  Mentor  had  occupied 
a  room  across  the  hall,  and  we  met  the 
professor  and  family  at  the  breakfast- 
table  as  recognized  members  of  the 
household,  nor  was  there  ever  after  the 
slightest  allusion  made  by  anybody  to 
the  mysterious  manner  of  our  transfer. 
Head-quarters  being  thus  happily  es- 
tablished, and  the  morning  promising, 


we  took  a  carriage  and  drove  to  York- 
town.  Although  it  was  high  noon  when 
we  reached  there,  we  saw  no  living  soul 
in  its  grass-grown  streets  and  no  sign  of 
life  about  its  decaying  houses.  Like  Gold- 
smith's "deserted  village,"  it  was  dramat- 
ically desolate.  This  sentiment  was  quite 
appropriate  to  the  purposes  of  our  visit, 
but  then  our  horses  must  be  fed,  and 
three  hours'  drive  had  sharpened  our 
own  appetites ;  so  we  groped  about  for 


THE    MOORE    HOUSE,    WHERE    LORD     CORNWALLIS    SIGNED    THE    ARTICLES    OF 

CAPITULATION. 


a  tavern.  At  length  we  perceived  a  slen- 
der smoke  curling  from  the  kitchen-chim- 
ney of  a  very  ancient,  decrepit -looking 
wooden  house,  which,  from  the  absence 
of  everything  like  care  or  comfort,  we 
guessed  might  be  a  place  for  public  en- 
tertainment. So  we  mounted  the  rick- 
ety steps  which  led  to  the  open  front 
entrance,  passed  through  the  naked, 
unfurnished  hall,  knocking  by  the  way 
at  irresponsive  doors,  and  thence  across 
a  bare,  dirty  court  to  the  kitchen.  Here 
we  found  an  old  negress  sitting  in  the 
chimney-corner  smoking  a  corncob  pipe. 
She  told  us  this  was  really  a  public-house, 
"  but  not  many  people  cum  thar.  Mas- 
ter was  now  asleep  up  sta'rs,  but  didn't 


like  to  be  woke  up,"  even  to  receive  cus- 
tomers. However,  she  in  her  capacity 
of  head-cook  served  us  a  lunch  of  bread, 
milk  and  ham,  while  the  coachman  and 
horses  were  directed  to  the  stable  to  help 
themselves. 

Yorktown  was  established  in  1705,  and 
for  a  time  enjoyed  a  modest  share  of 
commercial  prosperity,  although  at  best 
its  size  was  insignificant.  A  writer,  de- 
scribing it  immediately  after  the  surren- 
der of  Cornwallis,  says :  "  It  contains 
about  sixty  houses :  some  of  them  are 
elegant,  many  of  them  are  greatly  dam- 
aged, and  some  totally  ruined,  being  shot 
through  in  a  thousand  places  and  honey- 
combed ready  to  tumble  to  pieces.  Rich 


202 


A    VISIT  TO    THE   SHRINES   OF  OLD    VIRGINIA. 


furniture  and  books  were  scattered  over 
the  ground,  and  the  carcasses  of  men 
and  horses,  half  covered  with  earth,  ex- 
hibited a  scene  of  ruin  and  horror  be- 
yond description."  Now,  imagine  the 
rich  furniture  and  dead  bodies  properly 
disposed  of,  and  Yorktown  as  we  saw  it 
must  have  looked  very  much  as  it  did 
just  after  the  event  which  has  made  its 
name  famous  in  history.  Its  church  and 
dwellings  still  show  the  scars  of  cannon- 
shot:  rubbish  -  heaps  of  brick  and  mor- 
tar, lonely  chimneys  and  charred  tim- 
bers mark  the  places  where  its  elegant 
edifices  once  stood.  Here  were  the  Brit- 
ish earthworks,  bastion  and  curtain  still 
complete  in  outline,  and  so  little  changed 
in  profile  by  the  abrading  elements  that 
they  might  still  have  been  defensible. 
Here  too  the  curious  searcher  on  the 
grass-grown  parapets  or  weedy  enceinte 
might  often  find  leaden  bullets  and  the 
rusty  relics  of  arms  and  accoutrements. 

Continuing  our  walk  beyond  these 
works,  we  presently  came  upon  the 
traces  of  the  two  advanced  redoubts 
stormed  respectively  by  the  Americans 
led  by  Colonel  Alexander  Hamilton  and 
the  French  under  the  baron  de  Viomenil. 
Searching  still  farther,  we  encountered 
a  venerable  negro  carrying  a  pumpkin 
in  one  hand  and  in  the  other  a  basket 
of  oysters  fresh  scraped  from  the  riv- 
er. Oh  being  questioned  concerning  the 
road  we  were  on,  he  deposited  his  bur- 
dens and,  saluting  us  respectfully,  re- 
plied, "  Dis  road,  sah  ?  Dis  is  de  French 
army  road,  sah.  And  dat  field  ?  Dat  is 
General  La  Fayette's  field,  sah,  whar  dey 
camped  —  all  growed  up  in  pines  now, 
dough.  And  dat  house  over  dere  ?  Dat 
was  General  Washington's  head -quar- 
ters, sah." 

"  You  appear  to  know  all  about  it,  un- 
cle :  were  you  at  the  siege  ?" 

Uncle  chuckled  and  reflected :  "  'Spec* 
I  was  too  young  dem  days  to  do  any 
fightin',  but  I  puffeckly  'members  how 
scared  I  was  when  I  heard  de  big  guns 
a-boomin'." 

"  How  old  are  you,  uncle  ?" 

The  old  man's  face  showed  perplex- 
ity, and  he  began  counting  on  his  fin- 
gers :  "  T'ree  years  ago  missis  told  me 


den  I  was  a-risin'  of  seventy :  how  old 
is  dat,  sah  ?" 

"Quite  satisfactory.  You  must  be  about 
seventy-three,  and  as  the  siege  took  place 
in  October,  1781,  only  sixty-eight  years 
ago,  you  were  then  about  five  years  old." 

So  we  parted  mutually  pleased,  he  with 
his  silver  coin  and  we  at  having  found  a 
veritable  living  link. 

Returning  by  way  of  the  bluffs,  we  ex- 
amined a  cave  said  to  have  been  used 
by  Lord  Cornwallis  as  a  council-cham- 
ber when  the  town  got  too  hot  for  cool 
counsel.  Ascending  hence  to  the  brow 
of  the  bluff  overlooking  the  water,  we 
found  a  grassy  plateau  where  the  British 
flagstaff  was  planted,  and  where  their 
surgical  head-quarters  were  established 
during  the  bombardment.  Human  bones, 
bleached  and  decaying,  still  lay  scatter- 
ed around.  When  La  Fayette  came  to 
America  in  1824,  he  revisited  Yorktown. 
and  on  this  spot  was  ceremoniously  wel- 
comed by  a  delegation  of  Virginians 
headed  by  the  distinguished  Benjamin 
Watkins  Leigh.  But  our  interest  in  the 
ruins  and  glories  of  history  is  for  the  mo- 
ment superseded  by  the  magnificent  view 
from  the  plateau,  embracing  the  course 
of  York  River  far  inland  and  outward 
until  lost  in  Chesapeake  Bay,  the  grace- 
ful line  of  wooded  bluffs  on  the  York  side, 
and  the  county  of  Gloster,  pleasantly  di- 
versified with  field  and  woodland,  on  the 
north.  It  is  a  scene  of  surpassing  beau- 
ty, and  all  the  pride  and  glory  of  our 
race  sinks  into  insignificance  as  we  bow 
before  the  eternal  and  unchanging  maj- 
esty of  Nature. 

Yet  the  story  of  Yorktown  is  a  stirring 
theme  for  historian  or  poet,  and,  although 
a  "thrice-told  tale,"  can  never  be  heard 
without  a  thrill  of  patriotic  emotion. 
Time  is  pressing,  however,  and  its  repe- 
tition must  be  deferred  for  a  more  con- 
venient season. 

Returning  to  the  village,  my  cicerone 
conducted  me  to  the  clerk's  office,  where 
we  found  the  custodian  of  the  public  rec- 
ords asleep  on  three  chairs.  He  woke 
amiably,  and,  recognizing  my  friend, 
seemed  pleased  with  the  incident  which 
interrupted  the  inane  monotony  of  his 
j  official  life,  and  in  the  most  obliging 


A    VISIT   TO    THE   SHRINES    OF  OLD    VIRGINIA. 


203 


manner  assisted  us  in  rummaging  his 
files  of  dusty  parchments  and  antiquated 
record -books.  Among  other  objects  of 
interest  he  showed  us  a  manuscript  plan 
of  Yorktown  and  its  defences,  drawn  by 
some  officer  who  had  assisted  in  the  mil- 
itary operations  of  1781. 
From  hence,  resuming  our 
carriage,  we  returned  to 
our  hospitable  friends  at  \ 

Williamsburg. 

Thus,  within  a  range  of 
less  than  twenty  miles  I 
had  galloped  over  nearly 
two  hundred  and  fifty 
years  of  American  his- 
tory, and  visited  the  sites 
of  the  three  great  events 
which  have  fixed  the  seat 
of  empire  in  the  Western 
World  and  have  given  di- 
rection to  the  aspirations  and  efforts  of 
humanity :  the  lonely  tower  at  James- 
town, which  marks  the  first  permanent 
settlement  of  the  English  race  on  this 
continent;  the  old  Raleigh  Tavern  at 


Williamsburg,  where  the  ideas  of  the 
Revolution  of  1776  were  promulgated; 
the  battle-field  at  Yorktown,  where  the 
triumph  of  these  ideas  was  definitely  as- 
sured. Yet  it  is  curious  to  observe  that 
while  the  impulse  given  to  mankind  by 


A   CUSTODIAN   OF  THE   PUBLIC   RECORDS. 


these  events  has  continued  to  strengthen 
and  spread  with  accelerated  progress,  the 
region  which  gave  them  birth  still  sleeps 
in  monumental  immobility. 


PARADISE    PLANTATION. 


"HE  SPLENDID   SADDLE-HOSS." 


course  you  will  live  at  the  hotel  ?" 
"  Not  at  all.  The  idea  of  leaving 
one's  work  three  times  a  day  to  dress  for 
meals !" 

"  May  I  ask,  then,  where  you  do  pro- 
pose to  reside  ?" 

"In  the  cottage  on  the  place,  to  be 
sure." 

The  Pessimist  thrust  his  hands  into 
his  pockets  and  gave  utterance  to  a 
long,  low  whistle. 

"  You  don't  believe  it  ?  Come  over 
with  us  and  look  at  it,  and  let  us  tell 
you  our  plans." 

"That  negro  hut,  Hope?  You  never 
can  be  in  earnest?" 

"She  is  until  she  has  seen  it,"  said 
the  Invalid,  smiling.  "You  had  better 
go  over  with  her:  a  sight  of  the  place 
will  be  more  effectual  than  all  your  ar- 
guments." 

"  But  she  has  seen  it,"  said  Merry. 
"Two  years  ago,  when  we  were  here 
and  old  Uncle  Nat  was  so  ill,  we  went 
over  there." 

"And  I  remember  the  house  perfect- 
ly," added  Hope  —  "a  charming  long, 
low,  dark  room,  with  no  windows  and  a 
great  fireplace,  and  the  most  magnificent 
live-oak  overhanging  the  roof." 

"How  enchanting!  Let  us  move  in 
at  once."  The  Invalid  rose  from  his 
204 


chair,  and  taking  Merry's  arm,  the  four 
descended  the  piazza-steps. 

"Of  course,"  explained  Hope  as  we 
walked  slowly  under  the  grand  old  trees 
of  the  hotel  park — "of  course  the  carpen- 
ter and  the  painter  and  the  glazier  are  to 
intervene,  and  Merry  and  I  must  make 
no  end  of  curtains  and  things.  But  it 
will  be  ever  so  much  cheaper,  when  all 
is  done,  than  living  at  the  hotel,  besides 
being  so  much  more  cozy ;  and  if  we  are 
to  farm,  we  really  should  be  on  the  spot." 

"  Meantime,  I  shall  retain  my  room  at 
the  hotel,"  said  the  Pessimist,  letting  down 
the  bars. 

"You  are  expected  to  do  that,"  retort- 
ed Merry,  disdaining  the  bars  and  climb- 
ing over  the  fence.  "  It  will  be  quite  as 
much  as  you  deserve  to  be  permitted  to 
take  your  meals  with  us.  But  there ! 
can  you  deny  that  that  is  beautiful  ?" 

The  wide  field  in  which  we  were  walk- 
ing terminated  in  a  high  bluff  above  the 
St.  John's.  A  belt  of  great  forest  trees 
permitted  only  occasional  glimpses  of  the 
water  on  that  side,  but  to  the  northward 
the  ground  sloped  gradually  down  to  one 
of  the  picturesque  bays  which  so  frequent- 
ly indent  the  shores  of  the  beautiful  riv- 
er. Huge  live-oaks  stood  here  and  there 
about  the  field,  with  soft  gray  Spanish 
moss  swaying  from  their  dark  branches. 


PARADISE   PLANTATION. 


205 


Under  the  shadow  of  one  more  mighty 
than  the  rest  stood  the  cottage,  or  ra- 
ther the  two  cottages,  which  formed  the 
much-discussed  residence — two  unpaint- 
ed,  windowless  buildings,  with  not  a  per- 
pendicular line  in  their  whole  superficial 
extent. 

The  Pessimist  withdrew  the  stick  which 
held  the  staple  and  threw  open  the  un- 
shapely door.  There  were  no  steps,  but  a 
little  friendly  pushing  and  pulling  brought 
even  the  Invalid  within  the  room.  There 
was  a  moment's  silence ;  then,  from  Hope, 
"Oh,  the  magnificent  chimney!  Think 
of  a  fire  of  four-foot  lightwood  on  a  chilly 
evening!" 

"  I  should  advise  the  use  of  the  chim- 
ney as  a  sleeping-room :  there  seems  to 
be  none  other,"  said  the  Pessimist. 

"But  we  can  curtain  off  this  entire  end 
of  the  room.  How  fortunate  that  it  should 
be  so  large  !  Here  will  be  our  bedroom, 
and  this  corner  shall  be  for  Merry.  And 
when  we  have  put  one  of  those  long,  low 
Swiss  windows  in  the  east  side,  and  an- 
other here  to  the  south,  you'll  see  how 
pleasant  it  will  be." 

"  It  appears  to  me,"  he  remarked  per- 
versely, "that  windows  will  be  a  super- 
fluous luxury.  One  can  see  out  at  a  doz- 
en places  already ;  and  as  for  ventilation, 
there  is  plenty  of  that  through  the  roof." 

"The  frame  really  is  sound,"  said  the 
Invalid,  examining  with  a  critical  eye. 

"Of  course  it  is,"  said  Hope.  "Now 
let  us  go  into  the  kitchen.  If  that  is  only 
half  as  good  I  shall  be  quite  satisfied." 

The  kitchen-door,  which  was  simply 
an  old  packing-box  cover,  with  the  ad- 
dress outside  by  way  of  doorplate,  was 
a  veritable  "fat  man's  misery,"  but  as 
none  of  the  party  were  particularly  fat 
we  all  managed  to  squeeze  through. 

"Two  rooms!"  exclaimed  Hope.  "How 
enchanting !  I  had  no  idea  that  there 
was  more  than  one.  What  a  nice  little 
dining  -room  this  will  make !  There  is 
just  room  enough." 

"'  Us  four  and  no  more,'  "  quoted  Mer- 
ly.  "  But  where  will  the  handmaiden 
sleep?" 

"  The  kitchen  is  large,"  said  the  Pes- 
simist, bowing  his  head  to  pass  into  the 
next  room :  "  it  will  only  be  making  one 


more  curtain,  Merry,  and  she  can  have 
this  corner." 

"  He  is  converted !  he  really  is  convert- 
ed !"  cried  Merry,  clapping  her  hands. 
"And  now  there  is  only  papa,  and  then 
we  can  go  to  the  sawmill  to  order  lum- 
ber." 

"And  to  the  Cove  to  find  a  carpenter," 
'added  Hope.  "Papa  can  make  up  his 
mind  in  the  boat." 

We  had  visited  Florida  two  years  be- 
fore, and,  charmed  with  the  climate,  the 
river,  the  oaks,  the  flowers,  the  sweet  do- 
nothing  life,  we  had  followed  the  exam- 
ple of  so  many  worthy  Northerners  and 
had  bought  an  old  plantation,  intending 
to  start  an  orange-grove.  We  had  gone 
over  all  the  calculations  which  are  so 
freely  circulated  in  the  Florida  papers 
— so  many  trees  to  the  acre,  so  many 
oranges  to  the  tree :  the  results  were  fair- 
ly dazzling.  Even  granting,  with  a  lordly 
indifference  to  trifles  worthy  of  incipient 
millionaires,  that  the  trees  should  bear 
only  one-fifth  of  the  computed  number 
of  oranges,  and  that  they  should  bring 
but  one-third  of  the  estimated  price,  still 
we  should  realize  one  thousand  dollars 
per  acre.  And  there  are  three  hundred 
and  sixty  acres  in  our  plantation.  Ah ! 
even  the  Pessimist  drew  a  long  breath. 

Circumstances  had,  however,  prevent- 
d  our  taking  immediate  steps  toward  se- 
curing this  colossal  fortune.  But  now  that 
it  had  become  necessary  for  us  to  spend 
the  winter  in  a  warm  climate,  our  golden 
projects  were  revived.  We  would  start  a 
grove  at  once.  It  was  not  until  we  had  been 
three  days  at  sea,  southward  bound,  that 
Hope,  after  diligent  study  of  an  old  Flor- 
ida newspaper,  picked  up  nobody  knows 
where,  became  the  originator  of  the  farm- 
ing plan  now  in  process  of  development. 

"  The  cultivation  of  the  crop  becomes 
the  cultivation  of  the  grove,"  she  said 
with  the  sublime  assurance  of  utter  ig- 
norance, "  and  thus  we  shall  get  our 
orange-grove  at  no  cost  whatever." 

She  was  so  much  in  earnest  that  the 
Invalid  was  actually  convinced  by  her 
arguments,  which,  to  do  her  justice,  were 
not  original,  but  were  filched  from  the 
enthusiastic  journal  before  alluded  to. 
It  was  decided  that  we  were  to  go  to 


206 


PARADISE  PLANTATION. 


farming.     It  is  true  none  of  us  knew 
anything  about  the  business  except  such 
waifs  of  experience  as  remained  to  the 
Invalid  after  thirty  years'  absence  from 
grandpa's  farm,  where  he  used  to  spend 
the  holidays.     Holidays  were  in  winter 
in  those  times,  and  his  agricultural  ex- 
perience had  consisted  principally  in 
cracking  butternuts  and  riding  to  the 
wood-lot  on  the  ox-sled.     But  this  was 
of  no  consequence,  as  Hope  and  Mer- 
ry agreed,  since  there  were  plenty  of 
books  on  the  subject,   and,   besides, 
there  were  the  Florida  newspapers ! 

"  I  warn  you  I  wash  my  hands  of  the 
whole  concern,"  the  Pessimist  had  said. 
"You'll  never  make  farming  pay." 
"Why  not?" 
"Because  you  won't." 
"  But  why,  because  ?" 
"The  idea  of  women  farming!" 
"Oh,  well,  if  you   come  to  that,  I 
should  just  like  to  show  you  what  wo- 
men can  do,"  cried  Merry;  and  this 
unlucky  remark  of  the  Pessimist  set- 
tles the  business.     There  is  no  longer 
any  question  about  farming. 

No  one  could  deny  that  the  house 
was  pretty,  and  comfortable  too,  when 
at  last  the  carpenter  and  painter  had 
done  their  work,  and  the  curtains  and 
the  easy-chairs  and   the   bookshelves 
had  taken   their  places,   and  the  great 
fire  of  pine  logs  was  lighted,  and  the 
mocking-bird's  song   streamed   in  with 
the  sunlight  through  the  open  door  and 
between  the  fluttering  leaves  of  the  ivy- 
screen  at  the  window.     The  piano  was 
always  open  in  the  evenings,  with  Mer- 
ry  or  the   Pessimist  strumming  on  the 
keys  or  trying  some  of  the  lovely  new 
songs ;  and  Hope  would  be  busy  at  her 
table  with   farm  -  books   and   accounts ; 
and  the  Invalid,  in  his  easy-chair,  would 
be  listening  to  the  music  and  falling  off 
to  sleep  and  rousing  himself  with  a  little 
clucking  snore  to  pile  more  lightwood  on 
the  fire;  and  the  mocking-bird  in  his  cov- 
ered cage  would  wake  too  and  join  lusti- 
ly in  the  song,  till  Merry  smothered  him 
up  in  thicker  coverings. 

The  first  duty  was  evident.,  "  Give  it 
a  name,  I  beg,"  Merry  had  said  the  very 
first  evening  in  the  new  home;  and  the 


I  house  immediately  went  into  committee 
of  the  whole  to  decide  upon  one.  Hope 
proposed  Paradise  Plantation ;  Merry  sug- 
gested Fortune  Grove;  the  Pessimist  hint- 
ed that  Folly  Farm  would  be  appropriate, 
but  this  proposition  was  ignominiously  re- 


"  I'SE   DE  SECflON,  SAH." 

jected ;  and  the  Invalid  gave  the  casting- 
vote  for  Hope's  selection. 

The  hour  for  work  having  now  arrived, 
the  man  was  not  slow  in  presenting  him- 
self. "  I  met  an  old  fellow  who  used  to 
be  a  sort  of  overseer  on  this  very  plan- 
tation," the  Invalid  said.  "He  says  he 
has  an  excellent  horse,  and  you  will  need 
one,  Hope.  I  told  him  to  come  and  see 
you." 

"Which?  the  man  or  the  horse?"  ask- 
ed Merry  in  a  low  voice. 

"Both,  apparently,"  answered  the  Pes- 
simist in  the  same  tone,  "for  here  they 
come." 

"Ole  man  Spafford,"  as  he  announced 
himself,  was  a  darkey  of  ancient  and  ven- 
erable mieri,  tall,  gaunt  and  weather- 
beaten.  His  steed  was  taller,  gaunter 
and  apparently  twice  as  old  —  an  inter- 
esting study  for  the  osteologist  if  there 
be  any  such  scientific  person. 


PARADISE    PLANTATION. 


207 


"  He  splendid  saddle-hoss,  missis,"  said 
the  old  man  :  "good  wuk-hoss  too — bery 
tine  boss." 

"  It  seems  to  me  he's  rather  thin,"  said 
Hope  doubtfully. 

"  Dat  kase  we  didn't  make  no  corn  dis 
year,  de  ole  woman  an'  me,  we  was  bofe 
so  bad  wid  de  misery  in  the  leaders  " 
(rheumatism  in  the  legs).  "  But  Sancho 
won't  stay  pore  ef  you  buys  corn  enough, 
missis.  He  powerful  good  horse  to  eat." 

Further  conversation  revealed  the  fact 
uhat  old  man  Spafford  was  "de  chief  man 
ob  de  chu'ch." 

"What!  a  minister?"  asked  the  Invalid. 

"  No,  sah,  not  azatly  de  preacher,  sah, 
but  I'se  de  nex'  t'ing  to  dat." 

"What  may  your  office  be,  then,  un- 
cle?" asked  the  Pessimist. 

"I'se  de  section,  sah,"  answered  the 
old  man  solemnly,  making  a  low  bow. 

"  The  sexton !  So  you  ring  the  bell, 
do  you  ?" 

"  Not  azatly  de  bell,  sah — we  ain't  got  no 
bell — but  I  bangs  on  de  buzz-saw,  sah." 

"What  does  he  mean?"  asked  Merry. 

The  Pessimist  shrugged  his  shoulders 
without  answering,  but  the  "section" 
hastened  to  explain:  "You  see,  missy, 
when  dey  pass  roun'  de  hat  to  buy  a  bell 
dey  didn't  lift  nigh  enough ;  so  dey  jis' 
bought  a  buzz-saw  and  hung  it  up  in  de 
chu'ch-house ;  an'  I  bangs  on  de  buzz- 
saw,  missy." 

The  chief  man  of  the  church  was  found, 
upon  closer  acquaintance,  to  be  the  sub- 
ject of  a  profound  conviction  that  he  was 
the  individual  predestinated  to  superin- 
tend our  farming  interests.  He  was  so 
well  persuaded  of  this  high  calling  that 
none  of  us  dreamed  of  questioning  it, 
and  he  was  forthwith  installed  in  the 
coveted  office.  At  his  suggestion  an- 
other man,  Dryden  by  name,  was  en- 
gaged to  assist  old  man  Spafford  and 
take  care  of  Sancho,  and  a  boy,  called 
Solomon,  to  wait  upon  Dryden  and  do 
chores.  A  few  day -laborers  were  also 
temporarily  hired,  the  season  being  so 
far  advanced  and  work  pressing.  The 
carpenters  were  recalled,  for  there  was 
a  barn  to  build,  and  hen-coops  and  a 
pig-sty,  not  to  speak  of  a  fence.  Hope 
and  Merry  flitted  hither  and  thither 


armed  with  all  sorts  of  impossible  im- 
plements, which  some  one  was  sure  to 
want  by  the  time  they  had  worked  five 
minutes  with  them.  As  for  the  Pessi- 
mist, he  confined  himself  to  setting  out 
orange  trees,  the  only  legitimate  busi- 
ness, he  contended,  on  the  place.  This 
work,  however,  he  performed  vicarious- 
ly, standing  by  and  smoking  while  a 
negro  set  out  the  trees. 

"  My  duties  appear  to  be  limited  to 
paying  the  bills,"  remarked  the  Invalid, 
"and  I  seem  to  be  the  only  member  of 
the  family  who  cannot  let  out  the  job." 

"  I  thought  the  farm  was  to  be  self- 
supporting?"  said  the  Pessimist. 

"  Well,  so  it  is  :  wait  till  the  crops  are 
raised,"  retorted  Merry.  ' 

"  Henderson  says,"  observed  Hope, 
meditatively,  "that  there  are  six  hun- 
dred dollars  net  profits  to  be  obtained 
from  one  acre  of  cabbages." 

"  Why  don't  you  plant  cabbages,  then  ? 
In  this  seven-acre  lot,  for  instance  ?" 

"  Oh,  that  would  be  too  many.  Besides, 
I  have  planted  all  I  could  get.  It  is  too 
late  to  sow  the  seed,  but  old  man  Spaf- 
ford had  some  beautiful  plants  he  let 
me  have.  He  charged  an  extra  price 
because  they  were  so  choice,  but  I  was 
glad  to  get  the  best :  it  is  cheapest  in  the 
end.  I  got  five  thousand  of  them." 

"What  sort  are  they?"  asked  the  In- 
valid. 

"  I  don't  know  precisely.  Spafford  says 
he  done  lost  the  paper,  and  he  didn't 
rightly  understand  the  name  nohow, 
'long  o'  not  being  able  to  read  ;  but  they 
were  a  drefful  choice  kind." 

"Oh,  bother  the  name !"  said  the  Pes- 
simist: "who  cares  what  it  is  ?  A  cab- 
bage is  a  cabbage,  I  presume.  But  what 
have  you  in  this  seven-acre  lot  ?" 

"Those  are  peas.  Dryden  says  that  in 
North  Carolina  they  realize  four  hundred 
dollars  an  acre  from  them  —  when  they 
don't  freeze." 

The  planting  being  now  fairly  over,  we 
began  to  look  about  us  for  other  amuse- 
ment. 

"  Better  not  ride  old  Sancho,"  remark- 
ed old  man  Spafford  one  day  as  he  ob- 
served the  Pessimist  putting  a  saddle  on 
the  ancient  quadruped. 


PARADISE   PLANTATION. 


"  Why  not,  uncle  ?  You  ride  him  your- 
self, and  you  said  he  was  a  very  fine  sad- 
dle-horse." 

"  I  rides  he  bareback.  Good  hoss  for 
lady :  better  not  put  man's  saddle  on," 
persisted  the  old  man. 

The  Pessimist  vaulted  into  the  saddle 
by  way  of  reply,  calling  out,  "Open  the 
gate,  Solomon,"  to  the  boy,  who  was  go- 
ing down  the  lane.  But  the  words  were 


not  spoken  before  Sancho,  darting  for- 
ward, overturned  the  deliberate  Solomon, 
leaped  the  gate  and  rushed  out  into  the 
woods  at  a  tremendous  pace.  The  re- 
sounding beat  of  his  hoofs  and  energetic 
cries  of  "Whoa!  whoa!"  from  his  rider 
were  wafted  back  upon  the  breeze,  grad- 
ually dying  away  in  the  distance,  and 
then  reviving  again  as  the  fiery  steed 
reappeared  at  the  same  "grand  galop." 


OVERTURNED   SOLOMON. 


The  Pessimist  was  without  a  hat,  and  his 
countenance  bore  the  marks  of  many  a 
fray  with  the  lower  branches  of  the  trees. 

"  Here,  take  your  old  beast !"  he  said, 
throwing  the  bridle  impatiently  to  Spaf- 
ford.  "What  sort  of  an  animal  do  you 
call  him?" 

The  "section  "  approached  with  a  grin 
of  delight :  "  He  waw-hoss,  sah.  Young 
missis  rid  he  afo'  the  waw,  an'  he  used 
to  lady  saddle ;  but  ole  marsa  rid  he  to 
de  waw,  an'  whenebber  he  feel  man  sad- 
dle on  he  back  he  runs  dat  a  way,  kase 
he  t'ink  de  Yankees  a'ter  him  ;"  and  he 
exchanged  a  glance  of  intelligence  with 
Sancho,  who  evidently  enjoyed  the  joke. 

The  Invalid,  who  during  the  progress 
of  our  planting  had  spent  much  time  in 
explorations  among  our  "  Cracker  "  neigh- 
bors, had  made  the  discovery  of  a  most 
disreputable  two-wheeled  vehicle,  which 
he  had  purchased  and  brought  home  in 
triumph.  Its  wheels  were  of  different 
sizes  and  projected  from  the  axle  at  most 
remarkable  angles.  One  seat  was  con- 


siderably higher  than  the  other,  the  cush- 
ions looked  like  so  many  dishevelled  dark- 
ey heads,  and  the  whole  establishment 
had  a  most  uncanny  appearance.  It  was 
a  perfect  match,  however,  for  Sancho, 
and  that  intelligent  animal,  waiving  for 
the  time  his  objection  to  having  Yankees 
after  him,  consented  to  be  harnessed  into 
the  vehicle  and  to  draw  us  slowly  and 
majestically  about  in  the  pine  woods. 
He  never  objected  to  stopping  anywhere 
while  we  gathered  flowers,  and  we  always 
returned  laden  with  treasures  to  deck  our 
little  home  withal,  making  many  a  rare 
and  beautiful  new  acquaintance  among 
the  floral  riches  of  pine  barren  and  ham- 
mock. 

Meantime,  peas  and  cabbages  and 
many  a  "green  "  besides  grew  and  flour- 
ished under  old  man  Spafford's  fostering 
care.  Crisp  green  lettuce  and  scarlet 
radishes  already  graced  our  daily  board, 
and  were  doubly  relished  from  being,  so 
to  speak,  the  fruit  of  our  own  toil.  Para- 
dise Plantation  became  the  admiration  of 


PARADISE   PLANTATION. 


209 


all  the  darkey  and  Cracker  farmers  for 
miles  around,  and  it  was  with  the  great- 
est delight  that  Hope  would  accompany 
any  chance  visitor  to  the  remotest  corner 
of  the  farm,  unfolding  her  projects  and 
quoting  Henderson  to  the  open-mouthed 
admiration  of  her  interlocutor. 

"Have  you  looked  at  the  peas,  lately, 
Hope  ?"  asked  the  Pessimist  one  lovely 
February  morning. 

"  Not  since  yesterday :  why  ?" 

"Come  and  see,"  was  the  reply;  and 
we  all  repaired  to  the  seven-acre  lot  in 
company.  A  woeful  sight  met  our  eyes 
— vines  nipped  off  and  trampled  down 
and  general  havoc  and  confusion  in  all 
the  ranks. 

"Oh,  what  is  it?"  cried  Merry  in  dis- 
may. 

"It's  de  rabbits,  missy,"  replied  old 
man  Spafford,  who  was  looking  on  with 
great  interest.  "Dey'll  eat  up  ebery  bit 
o'  greens  you  got,  give  'em  time  enough." 


"This  must  be  stopped,"  said  Hope 
firmly,  recovering  from  her  stupor  of  sur- 
prise. "I  shall  have  a  close  fence  put  en- 
tirely around  the  place." 

"But  you've  just  got  a  new  fence.  It 
will  cost  awfully." 

"  No  matter,"  replied  Hope  with  great 
decision :  "  it  shall  be  done.  The  idea 
of  being  cheated  out  of  all  our  profits  by 
the  rabbits !" 

"What  makes  them  look  so  yellow  ?" 
asked  the  Invalid  as  the  family  was  look- 
ing at  the  peas  over  the  new  close  fence 
some  evenings  later. 

"  Don't  they  always  do  so  when  they 
blossom?"  asked  Hope. 

"How's  that,  Spafford?"  inquired  the 
Pessimist. 

"Dey  ain't,  not  to  say,  jis'  right,"  re- 
plied that  functionary,  snaking  his  head. 

' '  Why,  what' s  the  matter  ?' '  asked  Hope 
quickly. 

"Groun"    too    pore    I    'spec',   missis. 


"  IT'S    DE    RABBITS,    MISSY." 


Mighty  pore  piece,  dis :  Ian'  all  wore 
out.  Dat  why  dey  sell  so  cheap." 

"Then  won't  they  bear?"  asked  Mer- 
ry in  despairing  accents. 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Hope  with  determined 
courage.  "  I  had  a  quantity  of  fertilizers 
put  on.  Besides,  I'll  send  for  more.  It 
isn't  too  late,  I'm  sure. — We'll  use  it  for 
top-dressing,  eh,  Spafford?" 


"  I  declare,  Hope,  I  had  no  idea  you 
were  such  a  farmer,"  said  the  Invalid 
with  a  pleasant  smile. 

"And  then,  besides,  we  don't  depend 
upon  the  peas  alone,"  continued  Hope, 
reflecting  back  the  smile  and  speaking 
with  quite  her  accustomed  cheerfulness : 
"there  are  the  corn  and  the  cabbages." 

"And  the  potatoes   and   cucumbers," 


210 


PARADISE   PLANTA  TION. 


added  Merry  as  we  returned  slowly  to 
the  house  by  way  of  all  the  points  of  in- 
terest— the  young  orange  trees,  Merry's 
newly-transplanted  wisteria  and  the  pig- 
pen. 

"  I  rather  suspect  that  there  is  our  most 
profitable  crop."  said  the  Invalid  as  we 


seated  ourselves  upon  the  piazza  which 
the  Pessimist  had  lately  built  before  the 
house.  He  was  looking  toward  a  tree 
which  grew  not  far  distant,  sheltered  by 
two  enormous  oaks.  Of  fair  size  and 
perfect  proportions,  this  tree  was  one 
mass  of  glossy,  dark -green  leaves,  amid 


PICKING  PEAS. 


which  innumerable  golden  fruit  glim- 
mered brightly  in  the  setting  sunlight. 

"Our  one  bearing  tree,"  answered 
Hope.  "Yes,  if  we  only  had  a  thousand 
like  it  we  might  give  up  farming." 

"  We  shall  have  them  in  time,"  said  the 
Pessimist  complacently,  looking  abroad 
upon  the  straight  rows  of  tiny  trees  almost 
hidden  by  the  growing  crops.  "Thanks 
to  my  perseverance — " 

"And  Dryden's,"  interpolated  Merry. 

"There  are  a  thousand  four-year-old 
trees  planted,"  continued  the  Pessimist, 
not  noticing  the  interruption.  "  I  won- 
der how  many  oranges  that  tree  has 
borne  ?" 

"  I  suppose  we  have  eaten  some  twenty 


a  day  from  it  for  the  last  three  months," 
said  Merry. 

"Hardly  that,"  said  the  Invalid,  "but 
say  fifteen  hundred.  And  the  tree  looks 
almost  as  full  as  ever." 

"  What  if  we  should  have  them  gather- 
ed and  sold  ?"  suggested  Hope — "just  to 
see  what  an  orange  tree  is  really  worth. 
Spafford  says  that  the  fruit  will  not  be  so 
good  later.  It  will  shrivel  at  last ;  and 
we  never  can  eat  all  those  oranges  in 
any  case." 

Shipping  the  oranges  was  the  pleasant- 
est  work  we  had  yet  done.  There  was  a 
certain  fascination  in  handling  the  firm 
golden  balls,  in  sorting  and  arranging, 
in  papering  and  packing ;  and  there  was 


PARADISE   PLANTATION. 


211 


real  delight  in  despatching  the  first  ship- 
ment from  the  farm — the  more,  perhaps, 
as  the  prospect  of  other  shipments  be- 
gan to  dwindle.  The  peas,  in  spite  of 
the  top-dressing,  looked  yellow  and  sick- 
ly. The  cucumbers  would  not  run,  and 
more  blossoms  fell  off  than  seemed  de- 
sirable. The  Pessimist  left  off  laughing 
at  the  idea  of  farming,  and  spent  a  great 
deal  of  time  walking  about  the  place, 
looking  into  things  in  general. 

"  Isn't  it  almost  time  for  those  cabbages 
to  begin  to  head  ?"  he  asked  one  day  on 
returning  from  a  tour  of  inspection. 

"  Dryden  says,"  observed  Merry,  "that 
those  are  not  cabbages  at  all :  they  are 
collards." 

"What,  under  the  sun,  are  collards?" 
asked  the  Invalid. 

"  They  are  a  coarse  sort  of  cabbage : 
the  colored  people  like  them,  but  they 
never  head  and  they  won't  sell,"  said 
Hope,  looking  up  from  a  treatise  on 
agricultural  chemistry.  "If  those  should 
be  collards !" 

She  laid  aside  her  book  and  went  out 
to  investigate.  "At  any  rate,  they  will 
be  good  for  the  pigs,"  she  remarked  on 
returning.  "  I  shall  have  Behavior  boil 
them  in  that  great  pot  of  hers  and  give 
them  a  mess  every  day.  It  will  save 
corn." 

" '  Never  say  die  !'  "  cried  the  Pessimist.* 
" '  Polly,  put  the  kettle  on,  -'tie  on,  -'tie 
on  !  Polly,  put — '  " 

The  Invalid  interposed  with  a  remark. 
"  Southern  peas  are  selling  in  New  York 
at  eight  dollars  a  bushel,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  those  peas !  Why  won't  they 
grow?"  sighed  Merry. 

The  perverse  things  would  not  grow. 
Quotations  went  down  to  six  dollars  and 
to  four,  and  still  ours  were  not  ready  to 
ship.  The  Pessimist  visited  the  field  more 
assiduously  than  ever ;  Merry  looked  de- 
spondent ;  only  Hope  kept  up  her  courage. 

"  Henderson  says,"  she  remarked,  clos- 
ing that  well-thumbed  volume,  "that  one 
shouldn't  look  for  profits  from  the  first 
year's  farming.  The  profits  come  the 
second  year.  Besides,  I  have  learned 
one  thing  by  this  year's  experience. 
Things  should  not  be  expected  to  grow 
as  fast  in  winter — >even  a  Southern  win- 


ter— as  in  summer.  Next  year  we  will 
come  earlier  and  plant  earlier,  and  be 
ready  for  the  first  quotations." 

It  was  a  happy  day  for  us  all  when  at 
last  the  peas  were  ready  to  harvest.  The 
seven-acre  lot  was  dotted  over  with  boys, 
girls  and  old  women,  laughing  and  joking 
as  they  picked.  Dryden  and  old  man 
Spafford  helped  Hope  and  Merry  with 
the  packing,  and  the  Pessimist  flourish- 
ed the  marking-brush  with  the  greatest 
dexterity.  The  Invalid  circulated  between 
pickers  and  packers,  watching  the  pro- 
ceedings with  profound  interest. 

In  the  midst  of  it  all  there  came  a  show- 
er. How  it  did  rain  !  And  it  would  not 
leave  off,  or  if  it  did  leave  off  in  the  even- 
ing it  began  again  in  the  morning  with 
a  fidelity  which  we  would  fain  have  seen 
emulated  by  our  help.  One  day's  drench- 
ing always  proved  to  be  enough  for  those 
worthies,  and  we  had  to  scour  the  coun- 
try in  the  pouring  ra'in  to  beat  up  recruits. 
Then  the  Charleston  steamer  went  by  in 
spite  of  most  frantic  wavings  of  the  sig- 
nal-flag, and  our  peas  were  left  upon  the 
wharf,  exposed  to  the  fury  of  the  elements. 

They  all  got  off  at  last  in  several  de- 
tachments, and  we  had  only  to  wait  for 
returns.  The  rain  had  ceased  as  soon 
as  the  peas  were  shipped,  and  in  the 
warm,  bright  weather  which  followed  we 
all  luxuriated  in  company  with  the  frogs 
and  the  lizards.  The  fields  and  woods 
were  full  of  flowers,  the  air  was  saturated 
with  sweet  odors  and  sunshine  and  songs 
of  birds.  A  messenger  of  good  cheer 
came  to  us  also  by  the  post  in  the  shape 
of  a  cheque  from  the  dealer  to  whom  we 
had  sent  our  oranges. 

"  Forty  dollars  from  a  single  tree  !" 
said  Hope  exultantly,  holding  up  the 
slip  of  paper.  "And  that  after  we  had 
eaten  from  it  steadily  for  three  months  !" 

"The  tree  is  an  eighteen-year-old  seed- 
ling, Spafford  says,"  said  the  Invalid, 
looking  at  the  document  with  interest. 
"  If  our  thousand  do  as  well  in  fourteen 
years,  Hope,  we  may  give  up  planting 
cabbages,  eh  ?" 

"The  price  will  be  down  to  nothing  by 
that  time,"  said  the  Pessimist,  not  with- 
out a  shade  of  excitement,  which  he  en- 
deavored to  conceal,  as  he  looked  at  the 


212 


PARADISE    PLANTATION. 


cheque.  "Still,  it  can't  go  below  a  cer- 
tain point,  I  suppose.  The  newspapers 
are  sounder  on  the  orange  question  than 
on  some  others,  I  fancy." 

One  would  have  thought  that  we  had 


never  seen  a  cheque  for  forty  dollars  be- 
fore, so  much  did  we  rejoice  over  this  one, 
and  so  many  hopes  of  future  emolument 
did  we  build  upon  it. 

"What's  the  trouble  with  the  cucum- 


bers, Spafford  ?"  asked  the  Pessimist  as 
we  passed  by  them  one  evening  on  our 
way  up  from  the  little  wharf  where  we 
had  left  our  sailboat. 

"  T'ink  it  de  sandemanders,  sah.  Dey 
done  burrow  under  dat  whole  cucumber- 
patch — eat  all  the  roots.  Cucumbers  can't 
grow  widout  roots,  sah." 

"But  the  Florida  Agricitltitralist  says 
that  salamanders  don't  eat  roots,"  said 
Hope  :  "they  only  eat  grubs  and  worms." 

Spafford  shook  his  head  without  vouch- 
safing a  reply. 

"The  grubs  and  worms  probably  ate 
the  roots,  and  then  the  salamanders  ate 
them,"  observed  the  Pessimist.  "  That  is 
poetical  justice,  certainly.  If  we  could 
only  eat  the  salamanders  now,  the  retri- 
bution would  be  complete." 

"  Sandemanders  ain't  no  'count  to  eat," 
said  old  man  Spafford.  "  Dey  ain't  many 
critters  good  to  eat.  De  meat  I  likes  best 
is  wile-cat." 

"  Wild-cat,  uncle  !"  exclaimed  Merry. 


"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  cat  such  thingb 
as  that?" 

"Why,  missy,"  replied  the  old  man 
seriously,  "a  wile-cat's  'most  de  properest 
varmint  going.  Nebber  eats  not'ing  but 
young  pigs  and  birds  and  rabbits,  and 
sich.  Yankee  folks  likes  chicken- meat, 
but  'tain't  nigh  so  good." 

"Well,  if  they  eat  rabbits  I  think  bet- 
ter of  them,'1  said  Hope;  "and  here 
comes  Solomon  with  the  mail-bag." 

Among  the  letters  which  the  Invalid 
turned  out  a  yellow  envelope  was  con- 
spicuous. Hope  seized  it  eagerly.  "  From 
the  market-man,"  she  said.  "  Now  we'll 
see." 

She  tore  it  open.  A  ten  -  cent  piece, 
a  small  currency  note  and  a  one -cent 
stamp  dropped  into  her  lap.  She  read 
the  letter  in  silence,  then  handed  it  to- 
her  husband. 

"  Ha !  ha  !  ha  !"  laughed  the  Pessimist, 
reading  it  over  his  shoulder.  "  This  is 
the  worst  I  ever  heard.  '  Thirty-six  crates 


PARADISE    PLANTATION. 


213 


arrived  in  worthless  condition  ;  twelve  I 
crates  at  two  dollars  ;  fifty,  at  fifty  cents  ; 
freights,  drayage,  commissions ; —bal- 
ance, thirty-six  cents.'  Thirty-six  cents 
for  a  hundred  bushels  of  peas  !  Oh,  ye 
gods  and  little  fishes !" 

Even  Hope  was  mute. 

Merry  took  the  document.  "  It  was  all 
because  of  the  rain,"  she  said.  "  See  ! 
those  last  crates,  that  were  picked  dry, 
sold  well  enough.  If  all  had  done  as 
well  as  that  we  should  have  had  our 
money  back ;  and  that's  all  we  expect- 
ed the  first  year." 

"There's  the  corn,  at  any  rate,"  said 
Hope,  rousing  herself.  "  Dryden  says  it's 
splendid,  and  no  one  else  has  any  near- 
ly as  early.  We  shall  have  the  first  of 
the  market." 

The  corn  was  our  first  thought  in  the 
morning,  and  we  walked  out  that  way 
to  console  ourselves  with  the  sight  of  its 
green  and  waving  beauty,  old  Spafford 
being  of  the  party.  On  the  road  we 
passed  a  colored  woman,  who  greeted 
us  with  the  usual  "Howdy?" 

"How's  all  with  you,  Sister  Lucindy?" 
asked  the  "section." 

"  All  standin'  up,  thank  God  !  I  done 
come  t' rough  your  cornfield,  Uncle  Spaf- 
ford. De  coons  is  to  wuk  dar." 

We  hastened  on  at  this  direful  news. 

"I  declar' !"  said  old  Spafford  as  we 
reached  the  fence.  "  So  dey  is  bin'  to 
wuk !  Done  tote  off  half  a  dozen  bushel 
dis  bery  las'  night.  Mought  as  well  give 
it  up,  missis.  Once  dey  gits  a  taste  ob  it, 
good-bye  /" 

"Well,  that's  the  worst  I  ever  heard!" 
exclaimed  the  Pessimist,  resorting  to  his 
favorite  formula  in  his  dismay.  "  Between 
the  coons  and  the  commission-merchants 
your  profits  will  vanish,  Hope." 

"Do  you  think  I  shall  give  it  up  so?" 
asked  Hope  stoutly.  "We  kept  the  rab- 
bits out  with  a  fence,  and  we  can  keep 
the  coons  out  with  something  else.  It  is 
only  a  few  nights'  watching  and  the  corn 
will  be  fit  for  sale.  Dryden  and  Solomon 
must  come  out  with  their  dogs  and  guns 
and  lie  in  wait." 

"  Bravo,  Hope !  Don't  give  up  the 
ship,"  said  the  Invalid,  smiling. 

"Well,  if  she  doesn't,  neither  will  I," 


said  the  Pessimist.  "  For  the  matter  of 
that,  it  will  be  first-rate  sport,  and  I  won- 
der I  haven't  thought  of  coon -hunting 
before.  I'll  come  out  and  keep  the  boys 
company,  and  we'll  see  if  we  don't '  sar- 
cumvent  the  rascals '  yet." 

And  we  did  save  the  corn,  and  sell 
it  too  at  a  good  price,  the  hotels  in  the 
neighborhood  being  glad  to  get  posses- 
sion of  the  rarity.  Hope  was  radiant  at 
the  result  of  her  determination  :  the  Pes- 
simist smiled  a  grim  approval  when  she 
counted  up  and  displayed  her  bank-notes 
and  silver. 

"A  few  years  more  of  mistakes  and 
losses,  Hope,  and  you'll  make  quite  a 
farmer,"  he  condescended  to  acknow- 
ledge. "  But  do  you  think  you  have  ex- 
hausted the  catalogue  of  animal  pests  ?" 

"No,"  said  Hope,  laughing.  "I  never 
dared  to  tell  you  about  the  Irish  potatoes. 
Something  has  eaten  them  all  up :  Uncle 
Spafford  says  it  is  gophers." 

"What  is  a  gopher?"  asked  Merry. 
"Is  it  any  relation  to  the  gryphon?" 

"  It  is  a  sagacious  variety  of  snapping- 
turtle,"  replied  the  Invalid,  "which  walks 
about  seeking  what  it  may  devour." 

' '  And  devours  my  potatoes, ' '  said  H ope. 
"  But  we  have  got  the  better  of  the  rab- 
bits and  the  coons,  and  I  don't  despair 
'next  year  even  of  the  gophers  and  sala- 
manders." 

"  Even  victory  may  be  purchased  too 
dearly,"  said  the  Pessimist. 

"  After  all,  the  experiment  has  not  been 
so  expensive  a  one,"  said  the  Invalid, 
laying  down  the  neatly-kept  farm-ledger, 
which  he  had  been  examining.  "  The 
orange  trees  are  a  good  investment — our 
one  bearing  tree  has  proved  that — and  as 
for  the  money  our  farming  experiment 
has  cost  us,  we  should  have  spent  as 
much,  I  dare  say,  had  we  lived  at  the 
hotel,  and  not  have  been  one  half  as 
comfortable." 

"  It  is  a  cozy  little  home,"  admitted  the 
Pessimist,  looking  about  the  pretty  room, 
now  thrown  wide  open  to  the  early  sum- 
mer and  with  a  huge  pot  of  creamy  mag- 
nolia-blooms in  the  great  chimney. 

"It  is  the  pleasantest  winter  I  ever 
spent,"  said  Merry  enthusiastically. 

"  Except  that  dreadful  evening  when  the 


214 


PARADISE  PLANTATION. 


account  of  the  peas  came,"  said  Hope, 
drawing  a  long  breath.  "But  I  should 
like  to  try  it  again  :  I  shall  never  be  quite 
satisfied  till  I  have  made  peas  and  cu- 
cumbers profitable." 

"Then,  all  I  have  to  say  is,  that  you 
are  destined  to  drag  out  an  unsatisfied 
existence,"  said  the  Pessimist. 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  the 
Invalid. 

And  so  we  turned  our  faces  northward, 
not  without  a  lingering  sorrow  at  leaving 


the  home  where  we  had  spent  so  many 
sweet  and  sunny  days. 

"  Good-bye,  Paradise  Plantation,"  said 
Merry  as  the  little  white  house  under  the 
live-oak  receded  from  our  view  as  we 
stood  upon  the  steamer's  deck. 

"  It  was  not  so  inappropriately  named," 
said  the  Invalid.  "  Our  life  there  has  sure- 
ly been  more  nearly  paradisiacal  than  any 
other  we  have  known." 

And  to  this  even  the  Pessimist  assented. 


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